


Returning Home

by Adira_Tyree



Series: Fallout: Returning Home [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Caesar's Legion, Dead Horse Tribe, Drug Use, Finding a Father, Gen, Happy Trails Caravans, Latin, Plot Twists, Post-Game(s), Travel, Violence, Zion, awkward moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 75,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adira_Tyree/pseuds/Adira_Tyree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calista has spent the first 18 years of her life as a rebellious yet loyal daughter of Joshua Graham at Dead Horse Point. Though she loves her people she was raised as a Wastelander, and has always felt a disconnect between herself and the Dead Horses. When her father gives her a letter on her 18th birthday, her life is turned upside-down, and she sets off to find the Legion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART 1: The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I have only a very basic plan for this story. I make no claims about what might happen along the way. Be prepared for a wild ride through the wasteland!
> 
> Also, just going to confirm that: yes, I am posting simultaneously now to both FF & AO3. Putting this on all three accounts so no one has a kerfuffle over it.

_Calista,_

_I do not know if my name will mean anything to you in the years to come. It is my hope though that our war will not become forgotten so quickly, and that we shall be victorious. I am leader of the Frumentarii in Caesar’s Legion, and one of his most trusted men._

_My skills have never gone unnoticed by mighty Caesar. He has said that the urge to fight and seek victory by any means necessary is in my blood. That is why he sought to use me for the creation of many more of his soldiers. I was hesitant at first, but I will always be true to Caesar, and it was his command._

_There was nothing at could have prepared me for a daughter. It was something I hadn’t thought of, an oversight. I am not sure what I will do if it happens again._

_Caesar had been instructing me with my newest orders, to go to Zion and report back on the status of the tribes, when your mother went into labor. He said that I should stay for the birth, and then carry out my mission after naming my child. The honor of naming a child with a Latin name at birth was too great to resist, and so I stayed._

_Girl children are of little use to us in the camp. They only inspire trouble, and our women do not have time to teach girls the ways of the world. It seems cruel that they are disposed of, but after your birth I realized that it is a far kinder fate than keeping them here. I hope you will understand this._

_I was the one to deliver you, held you as you squirmed your way into this world. I had never seen such a young child before, a newborn; not even an infant. You were tiny. Something about your infinite smallness changed me that day. The way you stared into my eyes, not wailing or screaming like children do, but with strength I could not have anticipated, reminded me of something that the Legion had never understood or accepted: women are born with strength too._

_This was why I offered to be the one to dispose of you. It reaffirmed in Caesar’s eyes my loyalty to his cause; he agreed. After spending only hours in your mother’s arms, I took you from her. I could not tell her that I wanted to save you; it would have made me look weak, which could not be afforded. Her cries have chilled my cold heart like no other._

_I packed my things, leaving just enough room to keep you in my bag. A harsh way to carry such a delicate thing, but practical. You slept as I drew the drawstring shut and slung it over my shoulder._

_I was torn between my personal feelings and my orders. When I reached the cliff I had settled on to cast you off to death, I stared at it for a long time, and at you for even longer. Your lazy eyes opened, and you did not cry. You were strong. You were of my own blood._

_I used your blanket to tie you close to my chest, and walked away._

_I can never leave Caesar’s Legion; it is the way that I am and have lived for many years. Nothing will change that. But this one time I will disobey._

_Someday I should like to see you, to know what life you have chosen. Whatever becomes of you, I know you will be strong. This world requires strength to survive, and you were born filled with it._

_With this letter, I leave you a necklace. It is the Mark of Caesar: a rare gift that will allow you to pass freely through Legion encampments. If you ever wish to meet me, bring it to Fortification Hill and present it at the gates, and ask for me by name. Do not say who you are, if asked, only that you are expected._

_This is the most I can do for you. I hope it will be enough._

_Your father,_  
 _Vulpes Inculta_


	2. Questions

Calista looked down at the letter, eyes widening with every word. Reaching the end, she flipped it over to see if there was more, something to explain why this was being dumped on her so suddenly, but all she found was a faded advertisement: a torn off section of a poster for Nuka Cola. The light from the fire flickered on the walls of the cave, casting an eerie red glow around the room.

“All my life, you never thought to mention this once?” she asked bitterly, staring at the worn, red paper. “Not once?”

 The Burned Man was slow to answer, his eyes gazing at the Mark of Caesar that lay on the old picnic table beside her. “I thought often of it. But I made a promise, and in the end even my grudges should not lead me to lie.” The bench groaned as he shifted his weight.

 “You knew I never felt right here though. That I didn’t fit in somehow.” She was shaking, unable to control her own hands as the clenched into fists. All her life she had been the girl with no parents. No birth mother and an unknown father that wouldn't keep her. “I didn’t think you even knew who my parents were!” she said, standing. She slammed the letter down onto the table. “And all this time you knew where I came from? Where my family was? Where I belonged?”

 “I know your father,” Joshua said, “but nothing more.” The infinite patience in his voice made Calista’s blood boil. “I knew that when I told you, you would leave. I wanted you to be prepared for what you would find there before blindly wandering the Mojave. 'Civilization' is not all that the word implies. We have peace here.”

 “Well you could have mentioned something! Anything! At least that I had parents somewhere out there, even if they weren't ideal.” Her words felt understated, given that this Vulpes was one of the highest ranking officers in the Legion. The same Legion whose _psychopath_ leader had burned Joshua alive and thrown him into the canyon to die. She had heard countless whispered stories about the Legion, but had never imagined that she was connected to it just as much as Joshua. Zion saw little of the Legion after the battles of Hoover Dam, but Joshua was an inescapable memento of that past.

 “The ways of the Lord are strange and unpredictable; it is the most I can do to trust that, in the end, all will go as He has planned,” Joshua said, looking into the fire. It sparked in his eyes as though it were the moth and he the flame.

 “Oh cut the shit already,” Calista said, her voice icy with bitterness. “You know I don’t believe in this god of yours.”

 He sighed quietly. “I am sorry. I know this hurts you,” said Joshua, but he offered nothing more on it. His eyes held no emotion as he spoke. It only made Calista angrier. “If you wish to seek out your father, I won’t stop you. You’re a grown woman now; I cannot hold your hand forever.” He held out the Mark to her, its chain hanging on a single, dark finger. “I have not read your letter, as it was not intended for me, but I know this Mark. The fact that he gave it to you means he wants you to find him. It will keep you safe when you reach them, but travel carefully. Few citizens of the Mojave have forgotten the brutality of the war.”

 Calista took the necklace, carefully lifting it from Joshua’s bandaged hand. The wrappings were grey and stained with grease, and an absent part of her mind noted that she should help him change them later. She couldn’t quite make out the lettering on its surface in the dim, evening light, but the figure of the bull stood out prominently, the symbol of the Legion. It's head was raised in pride, horns forward, frozen mid-stride with its tail raised over its back. It was an odd thing to see; the only similar creatures she had heard of were brahmin, and they, quite distinctly, had two heads.

 She had never left Zion. It hadn’t exactly been something she’d ever wanted to do, either, but neither had she felt that the remnants of the pre-war world should be taboo. Everyone at Dead Horse Point had always told her that the old buildings were haunted by evil spirits, and that she should stay away. Still, she was raised by Joshua, not just the Dead Horses. She was sure she'd spent at least half of her childhood running in and out of such places, sometimes just to tease them about it. It was all a load of shit to her; there was nothing wrong with the buildings. Someone had just, long ago, been unlucky enough to discover a ghoul in one and thought the spirits were punishing them.

 Her mind wrestled her options back and forth, not hearing the soft words Joshua used to try to comfort her. If she left Zion she didn’t know when, if ever, she might return home. The thought of traveling the world, however broken it was, appealed to her though.

 In her heart she knew that she couldn’t stay; it wouldn’t be the same. Her trust had been broken, even though she knew Joshua had never really lied to her. He had always reminded her that he was not her birth-father, he was just the man who cared for her and raised her. She had always known she came from somewhere else, perhaps that was part of why she didn’t care for the taboos of the Dead Horses, but she had never expected to someday find out where.

 Joshua gently put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sure this will take you some time to decide. If you choose to leave Zion to travel the Mojave, let me know. I have some things that you would find useful.”

 She hated how casual he sounded, as though they were just planning a trip downriver somewhere in the canyon. Still, she didn’t shout; she was above that. According to the letter, perhaps she had just never been one to raise her voice. It was all more than she wanted to deal with.

 “I need to think,” she said, carelessly tossing the Mark onto the table. Stepping out of the cave and into the darkness of the night, she let the wind wash over her. She felt hot, and her eyes couldn’t focus on any one thing.

 The moon was only half waned, leaving a decent amount of light for her to see by. Without bothering for a torch, she began to scamper up the cliffs until she was high enough to see the fires of all the Dead Horses below.

_So is this who I am?_ she asked herself, looking up at the stars. _The spawn of hate and war, a simple attempt to breed a better soldier, cast out for being female? What kind of monstrous people would do that? Did she even want to find out?_ Her thoughts made her head spin. She could go on pretending nothing had changed, marry a Dead Horse and have children of her own. If she wanted, she could even choose not to believe it, but that would force her to call Joshua a liar.

 Even though she hated him for not telling her sooner, she didn’t blame him. He had done what needed to be done. When Vulpes had come to Zion and found Joshua Graham, there was little that could be done besides take the soldier up on his offer. In exchange for peace in Zion, all Joshua had to do was raise one infant girl and promise never to return to the Mojave again. It seemed like nothing, in exchange for the guaranteed freedom from Caesar’s crushing hand.

 Part of her ached for someone she could really call ‘father,’ even if it was only an old, manipulating soldier. The only mother she’d known had been her Dead Horse mother, Paints-the-Sky, and she had died nearly ten years before. Calista hadn’t started wondering why she was so different from the others until after that, so she hadn’t felt quite the same need for a mother. All her life she had never really had a father.

 The quiet of the night felt soft around her, hushed somehow. She settled herself down so that she could stare up at the sky, turning away from the red below to the deep blue-black above.

 She had heard little of Vulpes Inculta and his Frumentarii, only able to force a rudimentary explanation past Joshua’s lips when she asked over, and over, and over. Part of her wondered why he refused so adamantly to speak of them; she knew that ‘The Burned Man’ was a legend among the Legion, and the Wasteland at large, and why, but it was a living history that she wanted to know. How could anyone hope to overcome that history if they did not tell it?

 If Vulpes really was her father, it at least explained her pale ivory skin; Calista never tanned in the sun, no matter how long she spent in it. She wondered briefly if her grey-green eyes came from her mother or her father, but then another thought struck her.

_What if I have siblings? What if I have a family?_ Her eyes widened at the possibility that she was one of many children of this famed soldier and spy. She didn’t dare think about the possibility of having a mother; she didn’t think she could stand the thought of finally meeting her birth mother and seeing her bound as a slave.

 As she closed her eyes, thinking over unending questions, she listened to the hum of the night. Insects chirped and hummed in the darkness, creatures slithering and creeping along the sands in the distance. She let the night air fill her lungs, exhaling in one long, slow breath.

 There was no way around it; she would have to find him, and find answers.


	3. Logic

When the sun rose the next morning, all of Calista’s doubts washed back over her. She rolled over onto her side under her bighorner skin tent, keeping her eyes shut to the world. Part of her wasn’t ready to face the others. She wasn’t one of them anymore, whether they realized it or not. The worst part would be facing Joshua.

 She couldn’t decide how he would act today; whether it would be to pretend nothing had happened and all was normal, or if he would try to approach her again about the previous day’s bombshell. Both would be horrendously annoying somehow. With luck, she would be able to avoid him, but she didn’t hold out much hope. Joshua had little reason to venture outside of Dead Horse Point. The Dead Horses idolized him, and any time he found something to do, they would go out of their way to do it for him.

 Unable to hold off waking any longer, she grudgingly got up and dressed for the day. Her clothes were plain, simple, but more modest than the simple coverings the others wore. Joshua had bought them for her from caravans that passed through. He had always liked surprising her with something new.

 She looked around her small living space. She didn’t have much, but Joshua had always made sure she was provided for. Her home was carved out of a small bubble in the cave near Joshua’s, which he had used to store his belongings before she was given to him. It was raised up from the ground, a thin rope ladder the only way in or out. The tent provided privacy while she slept, and small shelves and metal boxes held all her belongings.

 Out of practicality, she kept her clothing in the boxes, keeping the dust and dirt off. The shelves held all the memories of her childhood: toys bought for her by Joshua, others fashioned by her Dead Horse mother, artifacts she herself had found in the canyon, scavenged remnants of the past. A flute carved from a leg bone of a yao guai. A skin from her first kill.

 Something tickled against her stomach, sending a shiver through her body. Lifting her shirt slightly, she looked over the tattoo along her ribcage: the symbol of her people, two lizards curling towards each other. It had been given to her after she’d slain that yao guai, proof of her strength. She could have taken more tattoos, but chose not to. While the one made her feel powerful, she did not want her skin to be covered in the designs her people craved. She wondered idly if wastelanders had tattoos.

 She dropped her shirt back down, hearing a familiar scraping of dust that meant someone was climbing up the ladder.

 “You’re awake,” said Joshua behind her.

 Calista turned around to face him. “Yes. I couldn’t sleep well,” she said. Her voice held a hint of spite, but she hadn’t intended it.

 “I’m sorry for that. I’ll be leaving Dead Horse Point for much of the day; scavenging around the canyon. I hope to see you still here when I return,” Joshua said.

She nodded. “If I leave, it won’t be today. I need to prepare myself.”

 “Yes,” he said. He crossed his arms. “When I return, I will tell you anything you wish to know. About the Mojave, the Legion, the battles for the Dam. About Vulpes.”

 “Alright,” Calista said, casting her eyes to the ground and wrapping her arms around her. Their conversation felt stunted to her. The easiness of life between them had gone with the letter that he’d given her.

 Without another word, Joshua turned and climbed back down the ladder. Calista followed, having nothing more to do inside.

 She found herself breakfast in the food stores, banana yucca, and watched Joshua as he trekked down the river. Despite his burned skin, he moved with ease. This had always surprised her, but she never questioned it. He was rarely willing to talk about his past. The thought that he might come clean with it all was enticing.

 “Yah ah tag,” came a soft, cheerful voice from behind her. It belonged to Falling-Waters. Calista had been friends with her for longer than she could remember; she’d been there when the girl was born. Falling-Waters was only a few years younger than her, but there were times when their age gap showed.

 “Hoi,” Calista said in return, smiling at the girl.

 Falling-Waters sat down in front of the fire next to her. “How did you sleep?” she asked. “You look tired.”

 “Fine,” said Calista, offhandedly. She didn’t want to talk, but didn’t want to be rude and just walk away either.

 The pair ate their breakfast in awkward silence. Calista tried not to notice Falling-Waters’ eyes boring into the side of her face.

 “Did Joshua give you that present he was talking about?” Falling-Waters asked, pushing the subject.

 “Oh,” Calista said, looking straight into the fire. “Yes.”

 “And?” she pushed, turning so that the rest of her body faced her friend.

 Calista sighed inwardly. “It was just a letter.”

 “A letter?” Falling-Waters asked. “From who? I didn’t know anyone wrote to you.”

 “It was from my father,” Calista said, not wanting to outright lie to her friend. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

 “Your father?” Falling-Waters asked, eyes wide and voice hushed. “Your real father?”

 “Yes.”

 “What did it say?” Falling-Waters asked excitedly.

 “I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Calista said, but something about her friend’s pleading expression broke her down. “Not much. It just told me who he was and how to find him.”

 Her friend squealed, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “That’s so exciting!” she said, grabbing Calista’s arm with both hands.

 “I suppose,” Calista said, shrugging. “I mean, this is my family, here. The Dead Horses.”

 “Of course,” Falling-Waters said, nodding vigorously, “but don’t you want to meet him?”

 “He’s…” Calista wasn’t sure what to say. “He’s not what I’d expected.”

 “Well,” Falling-Waters said, standing up, “I think you should find him. Even if it does mean you have to visit the taboo places, and even if he isn’t what you expected. He’s your father. Find him, maybe he’ll surprise you.” She started to walk away, heading off towards the medicine woman’s hut. “If he’s related to you, he can’t be all bad!” Then Falling-Waters jogged away to where Singing-Bird, the old medicine woman, was waiting for her.

 Since Falling-Waters was a true Dead Horse, she had started training in her chosen skill when she was thirteen, two years ago. Calista, on the other hand, was an outsider, despite having been raised with them all her life. She had no formal function in their society.

 Calista glanced over at her small garden along the front of the cave she shared with Joshua: the only thing that was really her own job to do at Dead Horse Point. She often went on hunts or gathered fruits with others, but she wasn’t a hunter, or a warrior, or anything else. She was just Calista.

 As the day went on, the Dead Horses smiled and chatted with her as normal. No one else knew about the letter, or that she was considering leaving Zion. Most of them would be sad to see her go, but would be more concerned that she would be visiting more of the taboo places. They hated anyone who went near old world buildings; it was bad luck, and bad luck sticks.

 Calista found herself watching the village more than participating. She wanted to take in what it was about her home that she loved so much, to try to convince herself that there were reasons to stay and forget all this Legion nonsense. After hours of seeing them all interact happily without her presence, she was beginning to conclude that it wasn’t going to be all that heartbreaking for either them or herself when she was gone.

 What she didn’t know was how Joshua would take it. He kept most of his emotions to himself. Even after giving her the most important news of her life he had decided to spend the day wandering the canyons, rather than home with her. Though, when she thought about it, she realized she probably wouldn’t have wanted the company. She didn’t want help with this decision.

 She sat down on a rock at the river’s edge, resting her feet in the cool water. It was still and peaceful, easy to see down to the bottom of its shallow depths. Her reflection in the water showed just how different from the others she really was.

 Her hair was long and dark, nearly black. She normally kept it braided. The Dead Horses, on the other hand, all shaved off their hair. Even the women did it, to keep it from getting in the way. She was taller than many of them too. Her frame was thin, but well-toned from years of climbing throughout the canyon and along its cliffs. Her eyes were a pale blue-grey, and her skin was always a pale, creamy ivory. Even the ink of her tattoo took on a different hue in her skin, turning a deep shade of indigo rather than the crisp blue-black it did with the Dead Horses.

 She felt like a coyote living in a pack of night stalkers; she always stuck out, somehow.

 There was one thing that did tie her to them though; she reached down and pulled her Tomahawk from her side. The handle was worn smooth from where her drip had worn into it, and the blade was sharpened down to a fine cutting edge. She flipped it in the air casually. Her skill with it was near unrivaled, which was one thing that the Dead Horses truly respected her about. Any kill she’d brought down had been made with its blade.

 “You’re going to need something more than that out in the Mojave wastes.”

Calista looked from the weapon in her hand to the water, seeing Joshua’s reflection behind her. He sat down beside her and pulled a gun from his side, holding it in the palms of his hands.

 “I’m giving you one of my .45’s; I amassed quite a few of them when Salt-upon-Wounds threatened to take the land of the Dead Horses. They had saved me from death, treating my charred flesh and keeping me alive, and in return I felt bound to help them. Now that there is peace in Zion, we have little use for them. But for where you’re going, it may be helpful,” Joshua said. He picked it up by the barrel and handed it to Calista.

 She carefully tucked the Tomahawk back into her belt and took the offered gun from him, testing its weight. It was heavier than she expected, but about the same weight as her Tomahawk. The grip was cold and unfamiliar in her hands. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, but assumed Joshua knew what he was talking about. After all, he had seen the wasteland at its worst.

 Calista wasn’t sure what to say as she looked the gun over. “I don’t know how to shoot,” she managed, looking him in the eye for the first time since the night before. She could tell by them that her words had made him grin, even though the rest of his face was obscured by bandages.

 Joshua put a hand on her leg. “It would be an honor to teach you. I think you’ll pick up on it easily,” he said, glancing to her Tomahawk. “You already know how to bring something down, you just need to get used to a new kind of weapon.”

 Looking down at his hand, Calista saw that the greying bandages on it had started to tear and fall away. She frowned, carefully pulling at one of them to test their strength. It snapped, crumbling at the light pressure.

 “We’ll need to fix this first,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “How long did you want to push it this time?”

 Joshua seemed taken aback by her question. “I didn’t want to burden you with it just before your birthday,” he said. “It’s not your cross to bear.”

 “That may be true, but you’re not going to be bearing anyone’s crosses if you can’t touch anything,” she said, then stood up. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

 Joshua said nothing as he followed her. She knew he hated letting her help, but after Paints-the-Sky had died, no one had been as good at tending to his skin as Calista. She’d learned from watching her Dead Horse mother do it over and over, every few days. Sometimes they would wash the wrappings to reuse them, but Joshua would buy new ones from caravans whenever he could. He’d stockpiled many of them in boxes, out of sight.

 The pair of them gathered everything they would need for the job from Joshua’s stores. Rolls of bandages, extra pins to hold them, fresh aloe leaves, healing powder, soft rags and soap. Calista picked up an old, chipped porcelain bowl to scoop up water from the river with as well. Then, with everything they’d need, they moved to a small area at the back of their cave where cool, clean spring water ran through in a shallow stream.

 Wordlessly, Joshua removed his clothes and began tediously pulling the bandages away from his skin. Calista pulled out the pins as necessary, letting him do the rest himself.

 “Who’s going to help you with this when I go?” she asked quietly, watching as his hands were slowly uncovered.

 “I will find a way, with the good Lord’s help,” he said, just as quiet. “It’s been enough years that I could do it alone if necessary.”

 She frowned at that. “That’s no good. You’d pin them right through your skin.” Her teasing words were only half serious.

 Joshua laughed, a rare sound that Calista treasured. “At least they would stay in place, then.”

 Calista laughed with him, but shook her head. Later she would ask Singing-Bird, their healer, to help him when she was gone, though she probably didn’t need to. The Dead Horses had always cared for Joshua, and they always would.

 When enough of the bandages had been pulled away from his arms and torso, she slowly began the painstaking process of washing the dead skin away. So much of his body was burned that it had never quite recovered, leaving him looking more like crispy squirrel bits than she cared to point out. The frayed and tortured nerve endings were confused most of the time, making it so that anything that touched him caused him pain.

 Despite it all, Joshua refused to take any chems to help with the pain. He even refused the various teas and tisanes the Dead Horses and other tribes had to offer, saying that the pain was given to him from God. _“And if God wants to push this pain upon me, then I will proudly bear it,”_ he would say, arguing that if it were otherwise his skin would have healed over time.

 Part of her saw the logic, but the rest of her had never believed in god.

 She took his hand and carefully pressed the soapy rag against it, rubbing away the flakes of dead skin. Blisters beneath layers of damaged flesh caused it to slide oddly in some places, the strange friction making her stomach turn. Calista was always careful to hide her disgust though; it wasn’t Joshua’s fault his body was so broken.

 Beneath the skin, however, he was a strong and healthy man. His insides had healed with time, leaving only the outer layers unable to return to normal. He could easily carry the heaviest loads, or run faster than yao guai. He could spot a gecko two miles off, and take down a bark scorpion before anyone else had even noticed it.

 Calista had always been impressed by Joshua’s abilities. His ‘disability’ could hardly be called such, as it never seemed to affect him. She had always been gentler with him than the others were, who insisted that his ‘second skin’ made him tougher than everyone, but she knew better. She could feel his body tense up when she pulled away a stuck bit of bandage from his skin when she bathed him. He was tough, but not invincible.

 Using the bowl she’d bought, she scooped up the cool water from the stream and poured it over his arms, washing the soap away. Joshua’s eyes drifted shut. Calista knew the water soothed him. It was one of the few things that made her feel like she could really help him. The relief showed clearly on what little of his face was visible; he refused to let her help him with his head or legs, so she had never see any part of his face but his eyes.

 Letting him soak in the water, she snapped open one of the fat aloe leaves and scooped out the green gel from inside, letting it splat into the bowl. The miracle plant moisturized and had a cooling effect on the skin. To make it easier to collect, she’d transplanted several of the plants from other parts of the canyon to grow along the edge of their cave. It was one of the few things she could do to help him, and he’d appreciated it greatly.

 With controlled movements she slowly applied aloe and healing powder to his hands and arms. It clung to the wet skin like sand. Absently she wondered if it was uncomfortable under the bandages, but it worked wonders. Without it, his skin remained brittle and easily cracked. She wrapped fresh bandages around the skin as soon as the aloe had absorbed, working quickly so that the skin didn’t have time to fully dry out.

 “Thank you,” Joshua said once she’d finished with his arms, chest, and stomach, “again. I’ll take it from here. I’ll meet you out by the back fire when I’m finished. Then we can talk.” He waited patiently as she nodded and turned to go.

 “I’ll cook up something for dinner,” she said, walking back towards the main room. “I think some of the hunters brought back a couple of geckos today.” Joshua didn’t answer, but she knew he’d agreed with a silent nod.

 With nothing more to say, she left the cave to find their supper, anxious to finally be able to get the answers she’d always looked for.


	4. Truths

“When I was younger, still foolish enough to believe I had a place in the Legion, Caesar asked me to lead his troops into battle at Hoover Dam. It was the greatest honor he ever bestowed upon me. I wasn’t a strategist or tactician, but I was brutal. I allowed myself to develop an ego that was greater than myself. I no longer needed to trust in God, I was the Malpais Legate; I was unstoppable.” Joshua stared into the fire, holding a cup of coffee between his hands.

 “It was this that was my downfall. I was cocky. Too cocky. It lost me the battle, and Caesar most of his army. It was a failure that could not be tolerated. Rather than crucify me, they marched me out into Zion, back to where they had found me, covered me in pitch and set my body on fire.” His eyes closed as he spoke. “But I’d died five times already; the good Lord saw fit to resurrect me one last time.

 “I struggled, but after three months of wandering in the desert I found New Caanan. They welcomed me back into the fold as though I had never been gone. It was… enlightening. My second baptism had torn away my pride, and I no longer felt the thirst to prove myself to anyone. Some deeper, darker part of me craved revenge against Caesar, but I quelled that thirst with faith. I never hoped to free myself from it fully, but God again had plans for me.

  “I went back out into Zion to spread my faith, as any young New Caananite would do. In my youth I had acted as a translator between the Dead Horses and New Caananites. It seemed only natural to return to them. I had taught them how to hunt better, how to maintain their weapons and pre-war equipment; when I came back to them they showed me their appreciation. Paints-the-Sky found a particular fondness in me, one that I neither encouraged nor denied. She had lost her husband to the Legion some months before my return; I suspect the pain of that loss helped fuel her interest in me in more ways than one.

 “For the first few months it was quiet, but Caesar wasn’t finished with his conquest. He knew that I was alive. It was a fact he found most upsetting.” Joshua shifted, setting his coffee down and resting his elbows against his knees. The fire reflected back at Calista in his eyes. She hated the way it quivered in front of him, simultaneously pulling towards him and pushing itself away.

 “Caesar sent dozens of assassins to kill me. When each of them failed, he started sending his Frumentarii. Spies. One of them did particularly well, posing as a tribal, but the scars across his back gave him away,” Joshua said, then gave a short, cold laugh. “He forgets that I trained many of his soldiers. I never forget a face, no matter how masked it may be.”

 Calista moved closer to the fire, hanging on Joshua’s words. She had never heard him speak so much at one time unless he was talking about god, a topic she was usually not even slightly interested in.

 “Vulpes, however, had a natural talent. He joined the legion at a young age, I’ve heard, but I never asked him his story; it didn’t matter,” Joshua said, glancing up at Calista.

 Calista cocked her head to the side in question, but didn’t ask the question verbally. She was afraid that the sound of her own voice would cause break off his story early somehow.

 “We… did not exactly get along well. He was jealous of how quickly I ascended the ranks of the Legion, and I was of his talent. He has a sense for planning, strategy, careful and exact movements. I was more abrupt, fast acting. He might take weeks to plan a careful assassination, whereas I would have simply found the target and gunned him down,” he said. He shook his head, then looked down to the ground between his feet. “I was a different man then. I enjoyed killing then. Now it’s simply a chore necessary to survive.”

 Shock shook through Calista. She couldn’t imagine the picture Joshua was painting of himself, sure that he must be exaggerating out of some sort of self-loathing or regret. She herself had never killed a man, only animals for food or in defense. The image of Joshua, gun in bandaged hands, flashed into her mind as she remembered a time when she was small, being chased down by a White Leg warrior. She had screamed and ran to hide, but Joshua had simply pulled his gun from his side, glanced down the sights and fired a single shot. It pierced the White Leg man directly between the eyes. He had been cool and collected, his response instant.

 She had never thought about him being a killer. It almost surprised her that he could ever have been one. It was a side of Joshua she didn’t want to see.

  Joshua hung his head, clasping his hands together. “Caesar’s men continued to fail to kill me. Groups of soldiers, assassins, snipers; none of them managed to bring me down, though some came close. I considered letting one of them think I was dead, but I didn’t want to give Caesar that satisfaction. It was selfish of me, endangered everyone who cared for me, but I couldn’t give in. Eventually he sent the best of his men.” Joshua looked up at Calista. “That was Vulpes, your father.”

 Calista moved a little closer to Joshua. Though the night was still and she was near the fire, her body seemed to refuse to warm up.  She rubbed her hands together, stuffing them between her knees.

 “He was a natural born killer. Lithe, agile, a good actor. Smooth movements and calculated words. He wasn’t fond of guns but he could pick the cap off a bottle at 100yds with a pistol. It seemed like there was nothing he couldn’t do. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he came for me. In a fair fight between us, I’m still not sure who would have won. But neither of us fought fair when he came.

 “We saw him coming a long ways off, but he never became hostile, not even when he saw one of the Dead Horses watching him from a hiding place. He could easily have killed the man, but he just kept walking. I didn’t have to tell the Dead Horses not to attack him, but I asked them to leave him to me if it came down to it. Killing him would have been a final victory over Caesar, proving that I could survive anyone he sent for me.” Joshua finally looked back up, gazing longingly into the fire.

  “Did he try to sneak up on you?” Calista asked before she could stop herself. She immediately clamped her mouth shut, but Joshua didn’t seem to mind the interruption.

 Joshua grinned, Calista could see it in his eyes. “No,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “He walked straight through the camp and walked up to me directly. He said ‘you’ll forgive me, but I cannot call you by your name. Caesar has ordered the death of any man who speaks it.’ Then told me he had business to discuss, and I asked him to sit down. It was… strange. We had never had a civil conversation; more often than not our interactions ended in floggings ordered by Caesar to sort us out.”

 Calista almost wanted to laugh, but the thought of flogging as a punishment for not getting along with someone made her stomach turn. She could tell Joshua had noticed, because he shook his head and dropped the subject.

 “You were pressed to his chest, just a tiny thing. He’d wrapped a blanket around his body, over one shoulder and down across his other side, tight. You never moved, just content where you were, not making a sound. And as much as I hated it, he made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.” Joshua hung his head again, digging one of his heels into the dirt. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I saw you then as nothing but a burden and a bargaining tool.”

 Unsure of what to say, if anything, Calista moved closer to him, putting a hand on his leg. He looked at her, and she could tell he smiled.

 He put his own hand on hers briefly, sitting up straighter. “I needed to be dead; it was an obvious fact to both of us. He knew I couldn’t just keep putting down Caesar’s men one by one until he eventually sent the entire Legion after me. On the other hand, he knew I would never give in so easily to Caesar as to just ‘play dead.’ I wanted to live in peace, and for my people to live in peace as well. What he offered was a strange bargain, but one worth considering.

 “He proposed that, in return for raising you as one of my own, he would tell Caesar that I was no longer a problem. Caesar had no interest in the meager remains of the tribes in Zion, and the land was of little strategic value to him in his war.” Joshua looked back to their cave, then continued to stare into the fire. “All I had to do was raise you, keep you alive and well for as long as I could, and promise never to leave Zion while Caesar still lived.”

 “Never leave?” Calista asked, leaning forward to look in his eyes. “Why?”

  “So that Caesar would never know that we lied,” Joshua said, his voice filled with bitterness. “If he found out I was alive it would be the end for both of us. He would send as many men as it took to kill me, and he would hang Vulpes up on a cross, or worse, for his betrayal. Vulpes was already both crossing Caesar and trusting me by bringing you here. If I hadn’t seen that there was truth in his eyes I would have thought it was an elaborate trick to lure me in to my death.”

  “What did he say about me?” Calista asked. She bit her lip, focusing on every word Joshua said to commit it to memory.

 “Only that you were his daughter, and his firstborn. That he refused to kill his own progeny. He was a good actor, but he couldn’t hide the truth this time. I knew he’d fully intended to… dispose of you,” he said gently, glancing over to Calista. “But there was something desperate hidden behind the mask of his indifference. He cared deeply for you, as much as he tried to deny it even to himself.”

 Calista felt a warmth spread over her at his words. The thought that her father hadn’t simply abandoned her was comforting, though she wasn’t sure she completely believed it just yet. “And nothing else? Nothing of my mother?”

 “Just that your name was Calista. It’s a Latin name; it means ‘the most beautiful.’ I don’t think he counted on me to know that, otherwise he might have tried harder to show apathy,” Joshua said.

  _The most beautiful_ , Calista thought, over and over. A smile grew on her face as she repeated it in her mind: _the most beautiful, the most beautiful, the most beautiful._

 “What was he like?” she asked, crossing one leg over the other as she spoke.

  Joshua gave a short, stunted laugh. “A woman would call him ‘smooth.’ Even when his words are harsh or violent they flow like silk from his silver tongue. I suppose he’s handsome too; high cheekbones, angular features. His skin is even more pale than yours. A friend once told me he never trusted a man that didn’t tan in the Mojave-sun, with reference to Vulpes in particular.”

 “What does that mean, anyway?” Calista asked. “ _Vulpes_.” She tested the name on her tongue. It felt strange.

 “Vulpes Inculta more or less means ‘Rough Fox,’ but Vulpes translates simply as ‘Fox.’ Non-Legion men sometimes call him that,” he said. He stretched his legs and arms forward, rotating his wrists back and forth. When he pulled his arms back, Calista noticed that his right hand landed instinctually on his gun in its holster. Her eyes lingered on the pistol before she chose to look down at the dirt instead.

 “I’m sure you have more questions, but it has gotten quite late. You’ll have to forgive my exhaustion; changing these is always a tiring ordeal,” Joshua said, lifting his hand and shaking it to gesture to the clean, white bandages wrapped around him. “Why don’t you take that all in for now. We can talk more in the morning.”

 Though she wanted desperately to protest, Calista agreed, nodding. Joshua’s eyes were bloodshot and she could see he was uncomfortable. He was hunched over leaning on one leg, heavy lidded eyes drifting lower as he spoke. He still faced into the fire, but his gaze seemed to drift through it before snapping back to reality.

 Calista stayed seated in front of the fire as Joshua carefully stood. He stretched, pressing his hands into his lower back, then said his goodnight by way of a gentle hand on her shoulder. It made her smile, but it didn’t quite make her happy. As his footsteps faded away, she wondered when it was that he’d started caring about her as a person. When he had stopped seeing her as a bargaining chip. A burden.

 She understood his reasoning. He’d never intended on having children, she was sure. Family wasn’t something he was fond of; he didn’t want the liability. Joshua had always been a loner, even when surrounded by a loyal and loving community. The Dead Horses were people he could take care of, teach, convert; though they had never exactly caught on to his “good news” in the way other tribes of Zion had, he continued to spit out psalms as a cure for any ailment, a resolution to any problem.

 Faith was something that Calista had never been good at. Even if Joshua wanted to see Caesar’s assassins as tests sent by god, she didn’t feel was a fair one. The wasteland amounted to kill or be killed, plain and simple. The easiest way to survive was to hope that no one noticed you were alive, and if they did you better have a shotgun handy. Whether it was a tribal, a raider, a soldier, or even a simple trader, trust was fleeting and easy to buy. No task was too lowly if the caps were good enough. If there was a god, he was certainly a hell of an asshole.

 _What made him join the legion?_ Calista wondered. She wasn’t sure if she was talking about Joshua or Vulpes, or both. Joshua had made it sound like he didn’t have much he could say about Vulpes. Discouraged, she kicked a log at the edge of the campfire. It hissed, the pile of wood resettling itself as ashen chunks collapsed in at the center. Joshua’s past both intrigued and scared her.

 She turned to where he had been, staring at the now-empty place at the fire. _What is it about this Caesar that is so appealing?_ she thought, racking her brain for questions she could ask in the morning. If the man was somehow more appealing than god to even Joshua at one point, there had to be something special about the man. He had to be intelligent, or perhaps intimidating; both would be necessary to rule over the wasteland. Perhaps he was a charismatic charmer. Maybe he was just rich enough to be able to hire some charismatic charmers.

 Like her father.

 Her brow creased. If Vulpes was silver-tongued then that was one major difference between him and herself already; Calista knew she was terrible with words. She was quick to anger, often saying things she didn’t really mean. Joshua knew and understood this about her, but the rest of the world wouldn’t be as forgiving. Often she spoke out before she could stop herself, or voiced thoughts that were better left unsaid. If anything was going to get her in trouble in the wasteland, her harsh temper would be it.

 She glanced down at her tomahawk. It was one she’d made herself. The blade of a broken hatchet capped a hand-carved wooden handle, smoother and easier to handle than the metal pipes so often used in makeshift weapons. She had built it to last, and it had held up well over the years. With luck it would continue to do so. Still, she was glad that Joshua would be giving her a gun. Though she’d never used one, she felt safer knowing it would be there. Her tomahawk was deadly and her aim was sharp, but the range of the weapon was nothing compared to a pistol.  

 The fire cracked again, making her jump. With a sigh, she stood and stretched. There was little she could do so late in the day, but she was restless. _What will happen when I get to Fortification Hill?How will I find my way in the wasteland? Should I try to find someone to travel with, or just quietly make my way alone?_ Questions about the world outside Zion swarmed in her mind louder than a whole nest of cazadores. Worse were the questions she didn’t really want answers to. Like what might happen to her if Caesar found out who she really was.

 Her hand felt for the Mark against her leg in her pocket as the rest of her wondered what ‘The Fort’ would be like. All she was sure of was that there would be constant eyes on her from the moment the Legion noticed her approach. It was an unnerving concept, that she might be considered a threat. But then again, she’d spent her life living under the guidance of Joshua Graham; maybe there was something in her to fear.


	5. Bullets and Psalms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for your patience guys, and I'm sorry it's such a short chapter. I'll make the next one longer to make up for it. I just wanted to be sure to get you guys something soon!

Calista held the pistol out in front of her, using both hands as Joshua had instructed. Gazing carefully down the sights, she prepared to shoot, but his voice stopped her.

“Relax your arms,” he said, walking up behind her. “You don’t want them sore from it. This gun carries a kick.”

She tried to relax her arms, but every time she tried to line up the shot with her eyes her whole body tensed. Throwing a tomahawk was a whole different type of stance; she could be running and easily throw it with one smooth movement, the whole of her body working to carry the projectile into the target. With the pistol she had to hold incredibly still to figure out where the shot would land.

Again, she lined up her shot, but when she pulled the trigger she found her arms jolted by the recoil. She didn’t make a sound, but her face showed her discomfort. She was thankful that Joshua couldn’t see it.

“Relax,” Joshua said again, stepping so that he stood just inches behind her. He reached his arms around her, adjusting her posture. “Like this,” he said. “Not so relaxed that you let it fall away from where you want to aim, but not so tense that you hurt yourself.”

The closeness of his body was strange to her; both reassuring and concerning at once. She felt the strength of his shoulders against her own. His chest pressed against the length of her back as he held her arms in place. Heat radiated from his body to hers.

“If you let your elbows down just slightly it lets momentum take the hit instead of your arms,” he said, raising her arms and pulling them back just a little. He took half a step back and took hold of her shoulders, rolling them back and around in circles. “And if you loosen up here you can better track your target.” She felt his fingers just barely massaging her upper arms before he walked back to the table he had been sitting on.

“Now try it,” he said.

She shook her head clear and stared at the row of tin cans in front of her. Some were bent, crushed in the middle. Eying one at the left end of the row, she aimed and took the shot, but missed.

“Damnit,” she cursed quietly, dropping her hands back down.

“You’re doing better,” Joshua said encouragingly behind her. “Tell you what: make that shot and I’ll let you ask one of your questions.”

Calista sighed, shaking her head. The gun felt heavy in her hands; holding it up was something she wasn’t used to. She squinted, focusing her eyes on the can, and pulled the trigger. The can sputtered away, off to the side; she’d hit it.

“What’s going to happen when I get to the Fort?” she asked, still looking at the cans. Adrenaline coursed through her as she lined up another shot and pulled the trigger. This time she missed.

“The fact that you’re a woman might change things somewhat, but I cannot say for certain. The standard procedure at least used to be that you would surrender your weapons before entering, then you could find your way to Caesar so long as you had the Mark,” Joshua said, not moving. “Then he would speak with you and send you on your way.”

Calista shot again, missing a second time. She cursed again under her breath.

“You, however, are not visiting Caesar.” Calista heard the crunching of dust under his shoes. “If fact, you’re probably going to do best if you can avoid Caesar altogether. Edward never was forgiving of women. Your biggest problem may be, however, that it’s entirely possible that the Fort is no longer home to Vulpes. Nearly 15 years have passed since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. There would be no strategic value in staying there.”

“Well it’s all I’ve got to work with,” Calista snapped, squeezing off another shot. This time the second can in the row flew backwards. “And what do you mean, ‘Edward’ was never forgiving of women?” she asked, turning to look at him, lowering the gun. She nearly jumped, seeing he was standing directly behind her.

“Women are considered to be of low value by the Legion, useful only for cleaning and bearing sons,” Joshua said, handing her another fully loaded magazine for the gun. “If he could get away with eradicating the gender entirely, I’m fairly convinced he would. They’re just lower forms of life in his mind. It’s a ‘value’ he teaches to the rest of the legion.”

“Well that’s shitty, but I was more asking about the ‘Edward’ part there,” Calista said, snatching the magazine out of his hand and replacing it with the empty one from her gun.

Joshua walked back to the table and sat down again, loading bullets back into the empty magazine. “Surely you don’t believe he was born with the name Caesar?” Joshua asked, easily avoiding her real question.

She sighed, reloading her gun with a violent slam. She brought her arms back up, aimed, and shot the next can down from its perch.

“You shoot better when you’re angry,” Joshua said, his tone casual. “That’s good. It’ll help you in the long run.”

Calista frowned, angry, but he was right. She shot down the last can, stomped back to Joshua’s side, and dropped the pistol onto the table beside him.

He gave her a look but said nothing.

“Tell me about him,” Calista demanded. “How did you even meet him? And when?”

Joshua paused, taking a deep breath. “It was the summer of 2246, if memory serves me,” he said, but Calista cut him off before he could say more.

“2246?” she asked in disbelief. “But that’s almost 50 years ago!”

“Yes,” he said simply. Calista could hear the grin in his voice. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

“How old _are_ you?” she asked, incredulously, forgetting what she was doing. She turned to look back at Joshua.

“When I was baptized in fire God saw fit to restore upon me the gift of youth,” Joshua said. Calista couldn’t tell if he was being serious or making a joke. “I have aged little since that day.”

Calista didn’t know what to think. “So, how did you meet him, 50 years ago?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she believed his words.

“I was a translator for the New Caananites, supposedly one of the best, working here in Zion. Edward was a scribe with the Followers of the Apocalypse, with a focus in linguistics.” He set down the magazine he’d loaded for her.

“And?” she pressed.

“And he came to Zion to study tribal dialects,” Joshua said. “He wasn’t Caesar then; he was just Edward. Charismatic, narcissistic, driven. Failure wasn’t an option for him. It still isn’t.”

Still frowning, Calista tilted her head, thinking. “Did you know?” she asked. “That he would become what he did?”

Joshua looked down at the table. “There is potential for good and bad in all of us. I could lift this gun and kill you with it right now if I wanted to, but to what end would it achieve? I could have lied to you about all of this. I could have chosen to burn that letter from your father instead of giving it to you.”

 Calista sighed. “You’re talking in circles again. Sometimes I feel like I need to do drugs to understand you.”

Joshua shook his head. “If you’re considering bringing any, Caesar will have them stowed with your weapons when you arrive at the Fort,” he said, his tone neutral. “I’d suggest not bringing any in with you, not even stimpacks. The Legion looks on drug use as a sign of the weak. You might be able to get away with some things if you play your cards right, but I would suggest you use caution.”

“How would you suggest I behave, then?” Calista asked, leaning on the table with both fists. It teetered slightly under the combined weight of her fists and Joshua sitting on the edge, so she moved around to sit on the other side of the table instead.

“Be strong, but listen to what they tell you to do. Don’t be crass or try to humiliate any of them either. They will not find it funny coming from you. Do not ask favors either. Men do not do such things for women in their ‘society.’ Even asking could get you into trouble. I don’t want to hear about you getting strung up on a cross because you insulted a high ranking officer or something similar,” he said, staring forward.

Calista watched the sun setting in the distance, golden rays of sunlight filtering through the clouds. “I don’t know how I’m going to get there,” she admitted. “I’ve packed what few things I plan to bring, but I don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Travel with one of the caravans to New Vegas. From there I’m sure you could find your way. You could hire a mercenary to bring you; then you’d have protection as well,” Joshua said, leaning back on his elbows. “Or find another caravan to travel with. Even perhaps some Legion troops heading back to the Fort. There are many options for you.”

“When is a caravan coming?” Calista asked, trying to remember the last time she’d seen one go through their territory.

“Happy Trails is due any day now,” Joshua said, turning his head to look up at her. “I’m sure they’d be happy to have you, so long as you can carry your own weight. They’d take you as a favor to me, if nothing else.”

Calista groaned, rolling her eyes and putting her head in her hands. “Great, now I’m a burden that’s taken on as a favor.”

Joshua laughed, shoving her shoulder playfully. “Cast thy burden upon the Lord and he shall sustain thee,” he quoted with devious eyes.

“Oh, now I see why you’re sending me away!” Calista said, laughing. “It’s going to make god happy, is it?”

“He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved,” he continued, finishing the quote. His tone held a mock wisdom that only made her laugh more.

“If we hadn’t just given you clean bandages I might have had to shove you off the table for that, you know,” she threatened, trying to sound serious.

“With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation,” he said sagely, parroting another psalm at her and nodding his head.

Calista shook her head and stood. She slid the gun into its holster at her side; it still felt awkward there. She would have preferred to have her tomahawk there instead. Absently she noted to find a way to holster both at her side later. “Come on, let’s get back,” she said, looking back to Joshua.

He nodded once, carefully sliding off the table and walking beside her.

“You know,” Calista said, glancing up at him, “as much as you frustrate me with your god-talk and carefully avoided questions, I’m going to miss you.” She stared at the ground, not sure she wanted to see his reaction.

Joshua put an arm around her shoulders, saying nothing as they walked back to their home. Calista let her head rest on his shoulder. Though he was often stand-offish, there were times when he was almost human.


	6. Happy Trails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry this chapter took forever to post! I'm working on getting ready for my final semester of college, so things are going to slow down a bit for a while. I plan to keep writing and posting whenever I can during the semester though! I don't really know how long this story is going to be. It's looking like it might be a bit of a monster. As a side note, I'm probably going to go back and rework chapter 5 a lot; I really can't stand it, but I had to get something posted. If I do so, I will mention it in an author's note sometime. I think this chapter is pretty much done, but I may add more bits and pieces of imagery. I'll look at it again tomorrow and see what I think, but you all deserve some reading for waiting so patiently after icky chapter 5!
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Calista awoke to the sounds of metal clanking together, loud talking, and the unmistakable disgruntled murning of brahmin. She yawned, rolling over. Everything in her room had been carefully sorted through and picked over, the most important things packed into her back frame along with her clothes. Her gun and her tomahawk waited patiently too, leaning up against it with two extra magazines for the .45.

She shut her eyes tight, trying to pretend she couldn’t hear anything.

Now that the day was actually here she didn’t know if she could go.

Caesar’s Mark fell against her sleeping roll as she rolled onto her side, the leather cord pulling on her neck. She stared at it, knowing that she had no more time to waver back and forth on her decision. Everything was ready, and she was going to go whether or not she wanted to.

“Cal!” came Falling-Water’s unmistakable voice from the room below. “Cal, come! Happy Trails is here! I’ve got breakfast for you.”

“Yah ah tag; I’m coming, I’m coming,” Calista said, trying not to sound grouchy. She’d overslept and it made her head hurt.

The air was cool in the cave, but she knew the sun would be brutal, so she dressed in light clothing. She glanced at the two weapons on the ground beside her back frame. Her eyes lingered on the tomahawk longingly, but instead she took the pistol, sliding it through the fat, leather loop hanging from her belt.

“There’s the lady of the day!” shouted a tall, dark-skinned man. He wore a broad smile that seemed to take up all his face, except for where his bright eyes shined out from under the brim of his hat.

“Hi Jay,” Calista said, her voice still thick with sleep. She couldn’t help but grin, seeing the giant smile on his face. His constant happiness was infectious. “How are you?”

“Oh just fine, making my way along. You know. And I hear you’re coming with me for a spell?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Yes,” Calista said, hesitantly. She glanced at Joshua, but he shook his head ‘no,’ and went back to turning a gecko leg on its spit over the fire. “I just think it’s time to get out and see the world, really,” she said, looking back to Jay. “You know, get in an adventure or two before I decide to settle down or something.”

Jay laughed loud and long. “I don’t think you’ll ever settle down,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder and leading her to the fire. “I’ve known you since you were just a tiny little thing, running out towards the river whenever Joshua wasn’t looking. You gave him more heart attacks than you know, girl.”

Calista grinned sheepishly. “I guess I’ve always had a thing for exploring, then.”

“That you have, Cal. That you have. I knew you’d be wanting to get out there into the Mojave sometime, it was just a matter of time,” Jay said. He sat down, pouring himself a glass of water from a metal pitcher.

“No, thank you,” she heard Joshua say, and glanced up to see Falling-Waters passing around a basket of fruit. When the basket got to her, Calista was sad to see they were out of banana yucca. Her friend tapped her on the shoulder though and slipped her one from under the basket. Calista grinned.

“Thanks,” she said quietly with a smile.

Falling-Waters smiled and moved on to hold the basket out for Jay, who thanked her and took a cactus fruit.

“So, where you lookin’ to travel to?” Jay asked, turning to Calista.

“Oh, I dunno,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “I figured I’d go to New Vegas and see the lights, then make a real plan from there.”

“Oh, New Vegas eh?” Jay said with a grin. “You’ll have to be careful there, don’t get into too much trouble.” He winked at Calista, then turned to Joshua. “You really going to let her go there?”

Joshua nodded, looking through the fire at him. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions about it. All I can do is offer guidance.”

“That’s true,” Jay said, cocking his head to the side briefly. “And she’s always been the wanderin’ type. Has a knack for findin’ trouble though.” His voice showed his concern.

“I’ll be fine,” Calista cut in, keeping her annoyance out of her tone. “I’ve got a gun and a tomahawk, and I know how to use them. And I don’t find trouble,” she concluded, “trouble finds me.”

Jay laughed. “That’s true too, that’s true.” He bit down into the cactus fruit, juice welling up over the edge and dripping onto the ground. “Well, I suppose while we’re walkin’ I can tell you about the Mojave,” he said through his mouthful. “Since Joshua won’t be there to do it. I still think you’re crazy letting a beautiful girl like her go alone into New Vegas though.”

“I have faith,” Joshua said, glancing at Calista. “Both in her and in God.”

Calista smiled. “I’m sure I won’t be going anywhere alone, either. I might just keep traveling with caravans. I want to meet people, and it seems like the easiest way.”

“That it would be!” Jay said, finishing his breakfast. “Though you’re gonna need something to offer if you’re going with caravans. They don’t like taking on people just for the sake of company.”

“You’re taking me, aren’t you?” she asked, unconcerned. “It’ll all work out. I’ve got lots of healing powder to sell anyway.”

“Dang good healing powder too. It’s always one of my bestsellers between here and New Vegas. But once you get out there you’ll need to find a backup seller, if that’s the way you’re goin’ with it. Most folks out there use stimpaks. Just the way of the world out there.”

“Well… I can hunt,” she said, thinking over her skills. “And I’m pretty good at foraging.”

“You may want to be careful with that,” Joshua interjected. “Last I knew, scavengers and foragers aren’t a favorite of the Mojave wastes.”

“True that,” Jay said, agreeing. “But you’re right, hunting would be good. If you know how to cure hides you might want to try that too; they sell at a fine price. I’m sure you’ll come up with all sorts of ideas once we hit the road.”

“When are we leaving?” Calista asked, her heart beating harder against her chest.

“Tomorrow morning. Gotta let old ‘Belle here rest a night before she sets back to the trails again. I don’t know how many more Happy Trails she has left in her,” Jay said, patting the brahmin on the side. “She may have to retire soon.”

“I am sure she will have many more good years in her,” Joshua said, standing up. “Now, I have work I must tend to. Rest your legs for a while, Jay. Calista? If you could come with me? I would like to discuss some things with you.”

Calista nodded, finishing her banana yucca and standing quickly to follow him.

“I’ll be here all day!” Jay said, his voice bright. He was a genuinely happy man, something that Calista was always pleased and confused by. It seemed to her that there were no truly happy folk in the world.

Joshua led her back into their cave, finding their way to a small area off to the side where he kept the majority of his supplies. It was poorly organized, but seemed to do well enough for Joshua. He moved boxes and cases around until he reached the one he was looking for. Carefully he removed the lid, then pulled out four faded boxes of .45 ammunition and handed them to Calista.

“These are for you to take,” he said. “Consider it a gift to go with your new gun. Ammunition for the .45 Auto has become increasingly harder to find, especially so after I scoured the wastes for it. Unfortunately New Caanan is still in no state to manufacture more, so this may be all you will have with you out there. Use it wisely. I would suggest that, when you can, you use your tomahawk.”

She carefully took the boxes from him, lining them up along her arm. “Thank you,” she said, not knowing what else to say. She’d hoped he would provide at least some ammunition for the gun, but didn’t expect so much.

“I would like to take you back to our practice range for a while. You can practice with a 10mm, to save your ammo,” he continued, pulling another box from a shelf beside them. “You’ll find it in excess in the Mojave.”

Calista brought the .45 ammunition over to her room, setting it down carefully on the floor at the entrance, then followed Joshua. He led her back out into the scorching heat, then down a path cut into the cliffside that

They set off, splashing along the river with every step. Calista took her shoes off to walk with her bare feet against the smooth stones of the riverbed.

Joshua’s look said that he wanted to scold her, but he said nothing and simply continued on downriver.

“I’ll be fine,” Calista said, trying to reassure him. She’d always hated shoes, preferring to feel the real world beneath her feet. It kept her footing sure and her balance precise. “You know I’ve been walking barefoot my whole life. And the Dead Horses do too.”

Joshua still said nothing. She could see his eyes glancing around as they moved, keeping an eye out for any possible threats. At the bottom of the canyon they were easy targets, but Joshua’s eyes were sharp and his aim exact.

It struck Calista just how much trust she had always placed in Joshua. She felt safe wandering Zion with him; safe enough that she could sleep easy in a world that was out to kill any- and everyone in it. Something pulled, sharp, in her gut when she thought about leaving that safety in a matter of hours.

She started to step on a sharp rock, but reflexively pulled her foot back to step down smoother stones. The cool water flowing along her ankles felt good, but she knew it should have been higher. The heat was intense, and it had been an even dryer summer than normal. Drought was a serious concern, and something they would have to prepare for if the water got much lower.

With luck, she figured, things would be better in the South. Once they reached Vegas, she assumed it would be easy enough to find what she would need to survive. In Zion you could only rely on yourself to be prepared for whatever might lie ahead.

The pair turned away from the river and up a steep path along the bank, climbing to a plateau that was far enough away from everyone to be a safe shooting area. Joshua had used it time and time again to teach others who were interested in his art. There were benches set up at various distances which could be used to line up practice targets on, allowing a more advanced shooter to continue to practice at the makeshift range. There was a table to sit on or around, and a pre-war trailer served as a storage area for their targets: empty soda bottles, tin cans, anything that was useless and could be shot at.

Calista tied on a pair of handmade sandals made from thick gecko leather. While most of the places she went were safe to walk barefoot, the range was littered with shards of glass.

“Here,” Joshua said, handing her a gun. “This is a N99 10mm pistol. They were made to stand up under harsh conditions, and have stood the test of time. They do, however, have downsides. They’re clunky, have more kickback and poor accuracy. And even though they hold up well, they’re prone to jamming if not frequently cleaned and maintained.”

“So why does everyone have them if they’re shit?” Calista asked, looking the gun over. It didn’t feel like an extension of her arm so much as a brick tied to the end of it.

“They were mass produced before the War; a standard, military issue pistol. It makes them easier to find, and cheaper to purchase.” Joshua pulled a crate of bottles and cans out of the trailer and started setting them up along the closest bench.

Calista frowned, testing the weight feel of the gun in her hands and swinging it around. “It feels awkward.”

“Yes,” Joshua agreed, setting down the crate. He walked back to the table and sat down on the edge like he had the last time they were there. “Give it a try.”

Calista loaded the gun, sliding the magazine in. It ground against something before clicking into place. She shook her head with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “Alright. Here goes.”

She lined up the shot, staring down at a faded bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla: her enemy. The gun felt heavy in her hands, the barrel wanting to nose-dive every time she thought her aim was right. She lifted it just a hair, her sights focused on the logo on the center of the bottle, and pulled the trigger.

No good. She lowered her aim, but again found no luck.

“Aim with your hands, not the sights. You’ll be a better judge of the shot than it will,” Joshua said. “The sights on a 10mil are, in a word, useless.”

With a curse Calista shot again, this time grazing the bottle just light enough to tip it on its side. It rolled off the bench and onto the dusty ground with a soft thunk.

“This gun is shit,” Calista said, not sure whether if she wanted to throw it or laugh.

“It is,” Joshua agreed, nodding.

“I mean I’m not going to have to shoot something this small, am I?” she asked, turning to look at Joshua.

He shrugged. “It _is_ unlikely.”

With a smirk, she jogged over to the row of bottles, sliding them so that they all touched together in a row of five, then strode back to the shooting line. She aimed for the center bottle, and managed to shatter the one on the far left.

Joshua laughed behind her, a genuine, deep, throaty laugh. “You never could stick to a set of rules. If you don’t like the outcome you change the game.”

Calista smiled broad, nodding, and shot again, aiming to the right again. The next bottle in the row exploded into endless pieces. One by one the bottles disappeared, though the aim was bad enough that she still missed several times; halfway down the row she had to reload.

She set up another row of bottles, this time on the next bench, another few yards away. “Tell me about other guns in the wasteland,” Calista said, adding a quick, “please,” to the demand. Joshua had warned her, time and time again, that it was better to ask questions than make demands, but it was hard for her to break her speech patterns.

“Well,” Joshua started, letting out a heavy breath, “there’s the 9mm pistol. It’s similar to what you’re using, and it’s lighter but also less effective. The NCR used it as a standard issue weapon though, so they’re easy to find. They also tended to use service rifles, making them common finds as well.”

Calista shot at the second row of bottles, beginning to understand how the bullets tended to fly. Still, they didn’t seem to go where she wanted except by chance. She cursed under her breath with every missed shot.

“Another route would be to look for energy weapons. Plasma and laser weapons are powerful, though harder to find ammunition for. Plasma has a higher accuracy of shot, but a lower rate of fire; laser is the inverse, with a high rate of fire and a lower accuracy,” Joshua continued. He crossed his arms, thinking. “I’ve hardly used them myself though, so I can tell you little more about them.”

Calista watched as another shot powered into the dirt behind the bottle she’d aimed for. “I feel like I’d have better luck shooting this with my eyes closed,” she muttered.

“To be honest, your luck would probably be about the same whether or not your eyes were open,” Joshua said, amused.

“Why did you hand this to me? It’ll be morning before I shoot these all down,” she said, her voice thick with frustration.

“I have no use for it,” Joshua said bluntly. “It’s a terrible pistol, it’s common where you’re going, and I don’t mind wasting the ammo.”

Calista laughed, though she was still annoyed. “Great.”

The sun climbed higher in the sky until it bore down on top of them both with scorching intensity. After an hour of frustrated hits and misses, Calista gave up on shooting to sit in the shade inside the too-hot trailer.

“Here,” Joshua said. “I brought lunch.” He handed her a few pieces of cooked meat on a long metal spike.

“Gecko?” she asked, looking at it before taking a bite. “Mm, no,” she corrected herself. “Iguana.”

Joshua nodded. He pulled carefully at the bandages on his face, creating a hole just large enough to eat through, then took a bite himself.

Calista always felt privileged to eat with Joshua; it was something he avoided doing around others. Most felt uncomfortable seeing the burned skin of even his fingertips, but his much of his body was still scarred by the fire. Part of his upper lip was missing, the skin having never grown back, and the sight was disturbing.

Calista though, having grown up with him, just knew it as another thing that made him Joshua. She had learned how to carefully manage the balance of not-staring and not-looking-away, but Joshua still often preferred to eat alone rather than with even her company.

“I don’t know I’ll ever be able to shoot well with something like this,” Calista said, jerking her head in the direction of the pistol. It sat outside on the table by the extra ammunition. She’d grown tired of seeing it.

“Few can. It takes an expert marksman and a well-cared-for weapon,” Joshua said, his voice no longer muffled by bandages. It felt raw compared to the more common sound, muffled by the long white strips of fabric. He thought for a moment, tilting his head as he chewed hard on a tough piece of meat and swallowed. “Your father could probably do it.”

“Even with that?” Calista asked, incredulous. “I feel like I could hold it against the damn target and still miss!”

Joshua smiled, a gruesome sight with his broken lips and stained teeth showing. “Even with that.”

Calista looked down at the kabob in her hands, staring through it and into the floor. “I keep wondering if I really want to meet him,” she confessed, taking another bite. “He sounds like an asshole, but if he’s my father I still want to at least see what he looks like.” She looked up at him, uncertain. “Do you really think I should go?”

“It’s a decision you need to make for yourself,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “But, were I in your situation, I would go.”

“Why?” she asked.

Joshua, leaned back against the wall of the trailer, stretching out one leg and propping up his wrist with the other. “I do not remember my own father. He died when I was too young to really remember. I cannot help but wonder if I would be a different man now had I known him in my youth.” He shifted, looking down at the top of his shoe. “There will be insights into the world that only your father can give you, things which only he can explain about you, stories that he can share that will only make sense to you.”

“You’re like a father to me, though,” Calista said, interjecting. “Isn’t that enough?”

Joshua smiled, still looking down. “No, not really. I can offer you guidance, but I can’t tell you why you are the way you are. Only he can explain those secrets to you. I see similarities between the two of you, and I am sure you will find more yourself.”

“What sort of similarities?” Calista asked, realizing she had been leaning farther and farther forward as he spoke. She straightened herself, trying to relax her shoulders.

“You hold your fists to fight in the same strange way as he does,” Joshua said, cocking his head to the side. “You both have a habit of nodding once when you say goodbye. Your eyes are both the same rare shade. You even have similar voices.”

“Really?” she asked, hanging on every word.

Joshua chuckled. “Yes. I have found one very obvious difference between you, though,” he said.

Hey eyes widened. “What?”

“You,” he said, sitting up straighter, “talk much more.”

Calista smirked wryly at him. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“I’m not sure it is either,” he said, smirking as well. “But last I knew, it was true.”

The pair grinned in silence as they finished their lunch. The sun was slowly sliding across the sky, its light silently creeping up Calista’s leg where she sat in the trailer. Once it reached the middle of her thigh it became too uncomfortably warm, and she moved to sit next to Joshua.

Joshua was readjusting his bandages again to cover his mouth, but didn’t seem to object her closeness.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she said, letting her head rest against the wall. “Do you really think we need to stay? Or can we head back?”

“If you would prefer to head back to camp we may do so,” he said. “It is unlikely you will gain skill with the 10mm even with days of practice. I simply wanted you to spend more time with a gun in your hands before you leave with Jay tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Calista said. She put a hand on his arm, resting her head on his shoulder briefly to show her appreciation. “Even if it does suck, I’m sure the practice helps.”

Joshua nodded. “Practice when you can, but I would caution you to not let others realize how little you have handled a gun before. It will make them less likely to trust you, regardless of your skill.”

Calista stood, nodding, then offered her hand to help Joshua up. She could see him debating with himself in the instant before he reached out and accepted it. “Let’s go back the long way,” she said. “If that’s alright.”

Joshua laughed shortly. “Alright. The long way.”

Calista grinned, running outside to gather the remaining bottled and return them to the trailer. Moments later, they were heading back down the path to continue downriver.

Once she reached the water, Calista took off her sandals again to feel the cool stones slide under her feet as she walked. She wondered if the Mojave had rivers she could walk in, but knew it would never be quite the same. No matter how long she spent wandering the wastes, Zion would always be her home.

Calista glanced around at the rocks above them, keeping an eye out for geckos and cazadores. She saw a bighorner lazing along a cliff edge in the distance, but nothing else caught her eye.

“How long have you been in Zion?” she asked, staring at Joshua’s back. Joshua glanced at her, then back to the ledges above them.

“A very long time,” Joshua said.

“Nothing more… specific?” she prodded.

“Longer than you’ve been alive,” he said, voice plain. “I really don’t know anymore.” He left the river and walked towards a path, stopping to let Calista put her sandals back on. “This time only about 19 years.”

“That seems like forever somehow,” Calista said, jogging up the riverbank. They climbed up path after path, twisting and turning to avoid ledges and rocks that would be too difficult for Joshua to climb in his bandages. Having him with her made the climb more difficult, but she relished his company.

Calista still wasn’t sure what had made her so crave his attention suddenly; perhaps it was just the fact that she was going away. She would miss him terribly, she knew, but she tried not to think about it as she pushed up the steep paths behind him.

Finally they reached a high point, just as the sun was beginning to drop out of the sky. It lingered above the horizon, scattering a vibrant glow across everything it could reach. Below them she could see the homes of the Dead Horses. Some had lit their campfires, others still working at their tasks in the last moments of daylight. Somehow she couldn’t imagine trying to work when the sky was so beautiful, though she’d done it herself many times before.

She stared off into the distance, taking in the beauty of her home, again wondering why she would ever want to leave it. Beside her, Joshua sat down, leaning against a rock. She followed suit, hardly taking her eyes off the sky as she settled down onto the dusty ground. Her hands were stained red from the trip, but she didn’t care.

“Tell me about Caesar?” Calista asked, watching as the sky slowly turned red and gold along the horizon.

“There is little to tell that I have not already told you,” Joshua said. His eyes too watched the setting sun.

“You said he’s terrible to women,” Calista prompted. While she wanted to learn more about this potentially deadly man, she more simply wanted to hear Joshua’s voice. It was comforting.

“He is. It is no coincidence that nearly all his slaves are women. He abuses them in horrific ways, some physical, some sexual. Apparently he eventually decided he _would_ breed an army; it was an idea he’d talked about with me before, but never made any decisions on,” Joshua said, stretching one leg out in front of him.

“I can’t imagine _breeding_ an army. It would take years!” Calista said in disgust.

“Yes, but how better? The most loyal soldiers are the ones born into their position. They have no other viewpoints to consider,” said Joshua.

“It’s still horrible,” Calista said. A chill ran down her spine at the thought.

Joshua nodded. “I agree. Children don’t have a good life with the Legion either. As soon as they are able to talk they begin learning fighting tactics and strategies. By the time they’re five they’ve got machetes in their hands.”

“I suppose it’s almost a good thing I was born a girl then,” Calista said with a bitter laugh.

Joshua laughed lightly. “Yes, I suppose it is. Your luck for being born not only to a Legion man who cared, but to one who could do something about it, is astounding. I would tell you that God has watched over you from the start, but you would not want to hear it,” he said.

Calista could see the smirk in his eyes. “I’d let you say it anyway. Today, at least. Maybe not tomorrow, but today.”

Joshua’s eyes kept smiling, but he said nothing. The sun was half-hidden beyond the edge of the land, casting a golden hue over all that its light could reach. He leaned back on one arm, resting the other over his raised knee.

“Tell me a psalm,” she said, her voice quiet. It was something she’d never asked of him before, and though she often blocked her ears from it, she suddenly wanted to hear any that he would tell her.

“O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it,” Joshua recited, looking down.

Calista nodded slowly, not entirely sure what most of it meant, but understanding the thought behind it. “It’s beautiful,” she said, watching as the sun slipped past the horizon.

“It comes from, what I find to be, the most beautiful of all psalms,” Joshua said.

“What part is your favorite?” Calista asked, genuine curiosity evident in her voice.

Joshua took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking. “Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts, and if there be _any_ wicked way in me, lead me in the way everlasting.


	7. Tell me a Psalm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I made a last minute decision to break this fic up into parts based on where Cal is / what's going on / et cetera. Thus, this chapter got a lot shorter very fast. I'm working on ch. 8 right now too, but wanted to get this bit up tonight. With luck I'll get ch. 8 done late tonight and post it, if not, I'll do my absolute best to get it posted sometime tomorrow! Thanks for reading!

Calista couldn’t sleep. She watched as the light outside slowly became brighter and brighter, futilely squeezing her eyes shut to keep out the day. But morning came, and there was nothing she could do to avoid it.

“There’s still a moment to change your mind,” Joshua reminded her as she brought her pack outside. “The wasteland will still be there in the Fall.”

“Unless somebody blows it up. Again. No,” Calista said. “No. If I don’t do this now, I probably won’t do it. And then I’d spend the rest of my life feeling like a bitch.”

Joshua laughed. “No, you’d throw off your shoes and run the full length of the Colorado, shouting for Vulpes to come out and find you if he dared. You’ve never been one to stay in one place for very long. I’m surprised you’ve made it this long without leaving.”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life waiting in Zion,” she said. “I love this place, but I don’t want to pretend anymore that there isn’t anything out there. I know what’s out there, somewhere, and I need to find it. Him. You know?” She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “And I did leave, once. Remember? When I was 15. I spent that week wandering around exploring all the pre-war buildings and hunting geckos.”

“I remember all too well,” Joshua said, shaking his head ruefully. “I nearly skinned you when you came home thinking we hadn’t noticed your disappearance.” Joshua smiled with his eyes. “And I understand. We will be waiting here for your return, whenever that may be; two weeks or twenty years. Whatever you find out there may change you, but you’re always welcome back home. You will always have your family, and you will always have your tribe.”

“I know,” Calista said, smiling. She fought off tears that were threatening to shed, the pounding in her chest increasing as she realized she was really leaving. “I’ll be back.” She laughed, throwing her head back and letting herself go. “Someone’s gotta’ take care of you, anyway.”

Joshua laughed too, shaking his head.

Jay stood beside his brahmin, checking and double checking her packs and bags to be sure they were all secured tightly. Calista saw him glance up at them with a smile and a nod. He was ready to get on the road.

With a squeal that Calista couldn’t decide was of happiness or sadness, Falling-Waters appeared, running towards her, full tilt. The younger girl slammed into her, giving her a tight hug, Calista more catching her than hugging back at first.

“I will miss you so much!” Falling-Waters said, squeezing her and rocking from one side to the other. “You must write to us! Send us letters with Jay.”

Calista smiled, hugging her. “I will. And make sure you and Singing-Bird take care of Joshua while I’m gone. There’s a store of healing powder to last him about a year.” She heard Joshua shifting uncomfortably behind her and laughed. “Deal with it, Joshua,” she said, then turned to face him and added in a lower voice, “if it’s really that terrible I’ll be sure to pass along your rage to you-know-who.”

“It’s not necessary,” Joshua said, laughing. “I’m sure you’ll be angry enough for both of us soon after arriving.”

Falling-Waters pulled back, looking Calista in the eyes. “We will all take good care of him. Just don’t forget where you come from.” She poked Calista in the ribs where her tattoo branded her a Dead Horse for life.

“I won’t,” Calista said. The sudden seriousness in her voice surprised even her. “I won’t,” she repeated again, softer. “I’ll come back, eventually. I just don’t know when. Someday.”

“Someday,” her friend agreed, nodding. Falling-Waters squeezed Calista’s hands, then let go of her, taking a few steps back.

Calista turned back to Joshua. She was tense, nearly shaking, but reminded herself over and over in her mind, _keep it together, Cal, keep it together_. She knew she should say something to him, but her mouth couldn’t form any words.

Joshua smiled, nodding. “I feel much the same,” he said quietly.

Unable to speak, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck in a hug, Joshua, not expecting such treatment, took a moment to respond, but carefully hugged her close to him. “We will all miss you,” he said.

Calista clung to him, willing her threatening tears away. “Tell me a psalm?” she asked him again in a whisper.

Joshua’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.”

He gently pulled her from him, grasping her arms in his hands as he continued, looking down into her eyes. “Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.”

Calista smiled. “Thank you.” She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his bandaged forehead, and could see the soft smile lingering in his eyes.

“Go,” he said simply, casting her off like a bird back into the sky. His voice was kind and calm, softer than she had heard him since she was a very little girl. It left her with a feeling of confidence she could never quite explain.

She nodded and turned, giving a small wave to Falling-Waters as she turned. Then, picking up her pack, she turned her back on Dead Horse Point and began the long walk to the Mojave. She adjusted her pistol in its simple leather holster, a gift from Falling-Waters, glad to have a piece of both her and Joshua with her.

“You ready?” Jay asked quietly. His smile was bright as always, but it didn’t seem to cheer her up.

She put on a fake smile, nodding vigorously.

Jay smiled wider. “Alright then, let’s get a move on! Lots of ground to cover.” Picking up the brahmin’s lead, he spoke louder. “Come on Clarabelle, time to move.”

Calista left her sandals hanging on the side of her pack, trying to memorize the feel of Dead Horse Point beneath her feet as she walked. She didn’t know how long it would be before she returned home, but she knew it would be a very long time.


	8. PART 2: Dead Horse South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey all! I'm still writing, I promise. Things are just slow. Check out my blog over on LiveJournal (link is in my profile, at the bottom) to keep up to date on what's going on with me and my writing. Thanks for sticking with me!

The first few days were the best for Calista. By sticking to the main paths and roads through the canyon, she found places that she remembered from her childhood; it felt like she was reliving her past for miles, and when she was so far that the places were new she felt that same excitement as she had in her youth. Each new bend in the road, each new cave or cliff or valley: everything was wild and fresh and beautiful. She wanted to drink it all in and memorize every detail. It was hard to not simply run towards every interesting thing she saw.

“You always were an explorer!” Jay said with a laugh.

Calista was leaning to one side to better stare down a path, but looked back up to him when he spoke. She grinned, then jogged to catch back up to him. “Yup. It’s in my blood I guess!”

“Must be,” Jay said, still laughing. “Just be careful now, or you’re gonna tire yourself out before we get to our next stop!”

Calista nodded, reminding herself of the endless expanse she would have to cover before even reaching her first destination. New Vegas was hundreds of twisting, turning miles away, and beyond that it was anyone’s guess how far she would have to go to find Vulpes.

It felt strange thinking about finding her father now that she was actually trying to do it. She had spent all her life living under Joshua’s guidance and protection. He was everything in her life, all the boxes already checked off: father, mother, teacher, brother, preacher, friend. A flash of an image crossed her mind, a memory of when Joshua was first teaching her how to hunt. He crouched low beside her tiny self, still a giant beside her as he pointed with one hand and held a finger to his lips with the other.

The only thing that made Vulpes her father was twenty minutes and bodily fluids.

A part of her wanted to like him, to thank him for what he did for her, but it seemed so meager compared to what Joshua had done. _Which was everything,_ Calista reminded herself, turning herself cold to Vulpes yet again.

“Have you ever been out this way before?” Jay asked conversationally.

Calista had never spent much time talking with Jay before. He was getting older, probably about the same age as Joshua, _who is apparently getting pretty old_ ,Calista thought. Jay had watched her grow up and knew much of her antics through stories told by Joshua. She herself though had, while happy to enjoy his company, taken little interest in him. Something about his constant questioning somehow made it harder for her to talk.

“Nope,” she said, glancing around. “I’ve always gone East or West. Sometimes even North. But never South.”

“Any reason? Or did you just never get to makin’ it this way?” Jay asked, his curiosity evident in his voice.

Calista thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t really know,” she said, chewing on her lip as she thought. “I guess, yeah. I guess I just never got out this way. No real reason. It’s beautiful though.”

Jay laughed. “This isn’t even South yet. Not really, anyway. We’ve got a lot of walkin’ to do before we get there.” He patted Clarabelle on her side. “We’ve got a long, long way to go.”

The gesture made Calista smile. There was something cute to her about the way Jay so loved his Brahmin. She wasn’t really sure what he liked about the loud, foul-smelling creature; she herself was somewhat repulsed by them. Something about their taught skin made her own skin crawl.

Her mind jumped to the thought of Joshua’s broken skin. It was different somehow, maybe just because she’d grown up around him. Joshua couldn’t be repulsive to her, though there were moments where shock still ran through her at the sight of the charred flesh.

A movement to her right caught her eye, and she looked across the river to see a gecko running towards them. Its jaws were open wide, teeth exposed and ready to clamp down on the first thing they could touch. Her hand fell to her hip instantly, and in one smooth motion she had pulled her tomahawk from her side, back over her shoulder, and thrown it straight into the gecko’s head. It quivered for a moment as its feet forgot how to move, then tumbled to the ground.

“Joshua always did say you were good with that thing,” Jay said, his rifle only halfway out of its holster on Clarabelle’s side. “I guess he really meant it!”

Calista beamed. “One of the best,” she said, “but I suppose I really shouldn’t boast.”

“Any time you save my life, you have my full permission to boast,” Jay said with a laugh. He pulled his rifle out and looked around in the direction the Gecko had come from. “Better take a quick look around, just in case.”

“Stay,” Calista said, already quietly stepping through the shallow water, only a few inches deep. “I’ll take a look. Gotta get the tomahawk anyway.”

Jay nodded, but kept his rifle ready anyway.

Calista crouched down over the gecko, being sure it was actually dead before removing her weapon from its skull. Blood trickled down but the creature didn’t move. She hated leaving the creature; it could make a great meal later, but it wouldn’t be practical to pick it apart now or to carry it to their destination by herself.

The gecko had come from a path she hadn’t seen before, the angle hiding it carefully. She quietly stepped towards it, glancing through. She didn’t see anything, but wasn’t confident that the area on the other side was safe. Deciding it would be better to back away, she turned, but was face to face with Fire-Claw – the lead hunter of the Southern tribe of Dead Horses.

“Yah ah tag,” she said quickly, looking up at the tall, muscular man.

His brow furrowed, but recognition came to him when he saw the tomahawk in her hand. “Goot keel,” he said.

She nodded her head once in thanks, then had a thought. “Naymst eet, pleez,” she said, gesturing to the gecko’s corpse. “Shih no raum zu.” She pointed at the full caravan across the river.

Fire-Claw glanced at the pack-brahmin, loaded up with goods. “Caravan?” he asked, the word seeming strange on his tongue.

“Ya, Happy Trails,” she said. “Pleez, naymst. No willen leev.”

The man watched her for a moment. She could see him debating with himself. It was an awkward situation for both. Dead Horses hated to waste good food, but it was also inappropriate to take home another person’s kill. While the food was shared by all, there was glory to be had in bringing home a good kill. Fire-Claw was high ranking in his tribe, leaving him to choose between wasting fresh meat and tainting his honor.

Realizing a solution to the problem, she quickly added, “es gift. Fur Dead Horse tribe. Pleez, naymst.”

The man gave a slight smile. “Ya. Dank ni, ahk iss.”

Calista smiled back. “Goot gonen.”

“Good gonen.” Fire-Claw turned and walked to the gecko, then easily picked it up and threw it over his shoulder.

Calista tried to hide her surprise at this strength. A full grown gecko was extremely heavy; often it took two grown men to carry one back, lashed to a sturdy metal rod to carry it with. Fire-Claw made it look like a child’s doll.

Calista quietly sprinted back across the river to where Jay was patiently watching.

“That was a good move,” Jay said, glancing back. “We’re heading to their camp next anyway, and that’ll help make them a little less cold towards me. Never did seem to like me, don’t know why.”

“They’re the Southern tribe,” Calista said, as though it explained everything. “They don’t like anyone. They don’t really even like the Northern tribe. North got Joshua, South got a better set of caves to live in. Left them bitter.”

Jay set his rifle back into its holster. “Well maybe they’ll be a little easier to talk to now. He’ll get back home long before we get there.” He called the brahmin and the three of them started walking again.

When Calista turned back, there was no sign of Fire-Claw.

The sun had nearly set by the time Jay and Calista reached the Southern Dead Horses tribe. Quiet voices could be heard talking around fires, and the smell of roasting gecko flooded Calista’s nostrils. The wind blew in gusts, throwing her hair up into her face even though it was tucked away in a rapidly failing braid. A shiver ran down her spine though the ground felt hot against her feet.

While Calista sat down and began to unpack, Jay moved to approach the leader of the Southern tribe. She’d never met him herself, but something about the set of his shoulders made her watch his every movement out of the corner of her eye, and her hand itch for the smooth handle of her tomahawk. Fire-Claw was a larger, more brutish man, but at least she’d met him on other occasions, usually while hunting with her own tribe. She searched her mind for the name of the Southern tribe’s leader, but nothing came to her.

Jay looked tense as he spoke with the leader, whose leathery skin was covered in deep, black-grey tattoos of lizards and careful geometric shapes and lines. His arms were fully covered in ink from shoulder to wrist, sun-bleached pyramids and dots and lines wrapping carefully around the aged skin.

Calista made a point to be fiddling with her backframe when Jay walked back over to her.

“The Bull says we should wait until the morning to unpack and trade.” Jay loosened the ties holding all the packs and bags against Clarabelle, carefully setting them in a pile beside her. “But he also said they’re doin’ some ritual in the afternoon tomorrow, meanin’ we best be back on the road after a few hours.”

“That’s not very hospitable,” Calista said. She unrolled her sleeping furs.

Jay scoffed as he set down the last of the packs. “True that,” he said quietly, “but compared to what they usually offer, they pretty much just built us a house out of gold bricks. I’ll take it.” He led the brahmin a few steps away to where a patch of grass was growing and left her there to graze.

Shaking her head, Calista turned back to her work. She spread out the furs and set her pack at one end for a pillow the way Joshua had always done when they went on long trips to visit other tribes.

A pair of eyes watching at her caused her to look up, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The stare she met was warm and interested, the fire reflecting back in his eyes, but she couldn’t make out the rest of the man’s face; the glow of the fire in front of him was too bright in the fast darkening night. They held their gaze for a long moment, before the man stood up.

Calista dropped her eyes away quickly. The man was young but still very powerful, judging by his numerous tattoos; powerful enough that she settled herself down in as small of a position she could manage while still able to polish the blade of her tomahawk. The reflex to clean the blade at the end of a day was natural to her, and reminded her of home.

 She could feel the heat of his skin as he moved to sit beside her. “How nice of you to give up such a fine kill,” he said. His voice was very quiet, hushed so that only she could hear.

Calista turned, surprised at the clarity in his language. “Thank you,” she said, speaking a little slowly to grind out a stutter. “You, uh. You speak—“

“Yes,” the man said, cutting her off. “My father was an outlander, like you. He wanted to be sure that I could talk like a ‘normal’ person.”

“That’s a rather harsh way of putting it,” Calista said. She frowned slightly, glancing up at his face finally. He was watching her hands move back and forth, sliding her polishing cloth along the blade. She looked back down at her work.

“He didn’t care much for the Tribe. He was only here because he wanted to learn some of the tribal languages from Joshua Graham. It didn’t exactly go how he’d hoped though,” he said. He stretched out his arms, the fine lines of his tattoos distending and distorting.

A pulling sensation in her gut brought her mind back to Joshua and their cave, but she pushed the thoughts aside. “I’m sorry,” Calista said, not sure what else to offer. She felt the edge of the blade knick her thumb as her hands started to shake slightly, sweat beading on the back of her neck despite the strong breeze.

“Graham said he didn’t have the time to teach languages to others anymore, that he was too busy raising another man’s daughter,” the man pushed.

Calista paid close attention to her breathing, evening out the length of each push and pull of her lungs. “I see.”

“I was always jealous of that daughter,” he said, leaning closer to her. “Maybe one day she could teach me to talk like an outlander.”

She looked up at him, stilling her hands. “But you already—“

“I wasn’t raised with the Dead Horses. They don’t know. I’m just another tribal to them. They adopted me when they saw how strong I was, how fast I could bring down a kill. In only five short years I’ve become one of their best hunters.” He watched her carefully. “Still, it is good to speak to someone in my native tongue.”

“I really can’t help you,” Calista said, unsure of what it was he was asking her to do. “I’m leaving Zion to—“ She cut herself off, weighing her options quickly. “To meet up with someone in the Mojave that’s looking for me.”

“That’s a shame,” he said as he moved to whisper in her ear.

She didn’t dare move.

“I was hoping we could become better friends,” he hissed. His breath lingered against her skin like smoke.

Calista glanced away, looking across the fires which were slowly being left to smolder down to ash. Her eyes settled on Fire-Claw's massive frame. He was sitting with a young woman who was ticking a toddler, presumably his wife and a child of theirs. Though he was talking with them, his eyes locked with hers before glancing to the figure beside her. She looked away, back down to her hands, wiping away a drop of blood from the cut on her thumb.

“Well, like I said, I’m not staying.” Calista kept her voice firm.

A shadow fell across them, and she turned to see Fire-Claw standing behind them.

“Dank ni,” he said, sitting down on the other side of her. He held out a gecko kebab for her to take. “Naymst, pleez.”

Feeling a little more comfortable with the stronger man around, she carefully reached out and took the food. She shifted so that she was facing him more directly, turning away from the other man before taking a bite of it; the meat was rare and juicy, dripping with flavor. Part of her wondered if it only tasted so good because it gave her an excuse to ignore the man plaguing her.

She looked up when Fire-Claw put a hand on her arm and started to speak, struggling to find the words in her own tongue.

“Dead Horse welcome always,” he said slowly, his brow furrowed with effort. “North and South. Bull just dislike trade.”

Calista smiled, a small and weak expression as she heard the quiet snarl of a curse behind her. “Thank you,” she said, following it with “dank ni” for good measure. Fire-Claw’s hand lingered on her arm, squeezing slightly as his eyes searched hers for a question. She glanced down at his hand, then the ground beside her, where her tomahawk lay. Her hands itched to reach for it again.

He gave her arm one last small squeeze before he stood, muttering a greeting to the other man. “Yah ehtag, Sting-Jaw.”

“Yah ehtag,” he said back, his voice cold and filled with obvious mock-respect. Calista noted the slight difference in the way they greeted each other from the ‘yah ah tag’ she was used to. Perhaps Joshua had been right that the Southern tribe’s dialect had been shifting. Sting-Jaw kept watching Fire-Claw until his shadow had dissipated, and he was back with his family again.

“So,” Sting-Jaw said quietly, stretching his legs out and settling down, though his voice remained tense. “I’d assume you have a tribal name?”

“I’ve never used it,” she said flatly. She took a particularly violent bite from her kebab, ripping a chunk off with her teeth like a dog tears meat from a bone.

Sting-Jaw stiffened. “Well, I don’t use the name I was born with, but that doesn’t make it any less mine,” he retorted, pushing. “You know mine, it’s only right you tell me yours now.”

“Maybe, but I don’t really care,” she said, emblazoned by a sudden burst of confidence.

Sting-Jaw laughed, shaking his head. “For being raised by such a brilliant man, you are _very_ stupid,” he said, his tone crisp and calm. “This wasteland will not be kind to you. Perhaps someone should give you a taste of it.”

Calista turned on him, her eyes cold. “I think you should go.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Sting-Jaw said. “But I’m not leaving yet. I don’t even have your name.”

Calista sighed, closing her eyes to swallow her annoyance. “Cazadore,” she said before opening them again. “It’s Cazadore.”

Sting-Jaw’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly covered the look with a short, quiet laugh. “Then there must be more to you than there looks to be, _oh_ _beautiful and deadly one_ ,” he said in a sardonic tone.

“I got the name because I can kill with a single throw of my tomahawk,” she said, glaring. “So yes, I suppose there is more to me than you would just assume. Now leave me alone before I give you a personal demonstration.” She stood, chest heaving in growing anger as she glared down at him.

His eyes stared deep into hers as he stood, rising gracefully in silence. “For now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But remember, a Cazadore is only as deadly as its venom.”

“And the best place to keep one is at a distance,” she added, not blinking. Calista watched his every step as he walked away, slowly fading into the darkness of the night around them. She wondered if perhaps it might have been better to keep him closer, just so she’d know where he was.

Across the camp, Fire-Claw too was standing, watching her carefully. She nodded once to him, and he responded with the same gesture.

Calista shifted in her sleeping furs, hardly able sleep. She kept her left hand filled with her tomahawk and her right hand oh her pistol under the lumpy, make-shift pillow of her pack. Against the ground, the sand kicked up with every gust of wind, hitting her in the face with grit that tasted like char and fat and stone. Every noise forced her tired eyes open.

A hand against her mouth made her eyes flash open again. She tried to bring up her tomahawk, but found it caught under a heavy weight, his foot; whipped her pistol out from under her head but another hand bent her wrist backward painfully. The gun fell to the ground beside her.

“Up,” a man’s voice muttered above her.         

She stayed still, her fists clenched. The hand against her mouth prevented her from spewing the choice words that came to her mind.

“Move,” the voice said. When she still refused to move, the hand slid from her mouth to her throat. Strong fingers gripped her neck and pulled her away from her sleeping furs, tossing her in the direction of the river.

The night was dark, only a sliver of moon lighting the path in front of her. She stumbled as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but the man in front of her crept nimbly along the path, seeming to know just when to step over a rock or around a dip in the path. She tried to dart away, but only succeeded in tumbling down to the ground, tripping from a low spot in the path. The man kicked her, and kept her walking down the path until their feet hit water, then he turned and pulled her along the stream by her arm. She didn’t know how far they were going, but with each step away from the camp her heart seemed to race faster.

Pulling them back out of the water, the man shoved her roughly down to the ground. “You made a bad choice in denying me,” he said, “but I’ll give you the chance to change your mind, now.”

Calista’s eyes tried to widen in fear and confusion, but could open no further. Her jaw fell open and she tried to speak. No words came out.

The man laughed, grabbing her by the jaw. “That will be a good start,” he said, gripping her open mouth and tilting it upward. Realization dawned on her as his free hand began to pull at her shirt. She pushed herself backward with both hands. “No,” she said, shaking her head, eyes wild with fire but her tone weak.

“Begging already?” he said with a laugh that curdled her blood. Letting go of her face, he kneeled down between her legs. He wrapped his hands around her hips and pressed his lips against her neck.

She jerked, her mind reacting with pure confusion. Her mind told her to run, but her legs stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move. She tried to punch him, but his hand caught her fist and threw it back to the ground. He laughed into her skin.

Calista remained frozen as his hands slid up her sides beneath her shirt. _This isn’t happening,_ she told herself. _I am **not** going to let this happen._ She focused on the feeling of the word, trying to kick him away, but he pinned her legs down easily with his hands. Even though her arms were strong from years of hunting, she couldn’t shake him away from her. Her eyes darted around, trying to take in everything in front of her as his hands wandered her body.

"I'll send you to rot in hell for this," she snarled, trying to convince her limbs to react. His laughs chilled them through.

She felt bile rise in her throat as thoughts clouded over her mind. Her back began to ache as a sharp rock pressed into it. It slowly pierced into the skin and broke through her thoughts, a moment of clarity slamming into her. Tearing the heavy, jagged rock, from beneath her, she and slammed it into the side of Sting-Jaw’s skull, and he fell to the ground, blood trickling from a gash behind his ear: unconscious.


	9. Stained Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the slow updating. This semester is bizarre, and the weather more so. Bad weather means bad migraines for me, and that means no writing usually. I try to update my status through my LiveJournal account though, so you can always check it to see what I'm up to. With luck, I'll be writing more on my weekends soon! Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Also. This chapter is a little heavy on the Dead Horse dialects. A lot of it I've had to put together on my own, but all original content I could pull from the language is listed at the link below. If you want to check it out, it might help you to understand anything that I've not made obvious. I apologize if you actually feel the need to look it up! I'm trying to make it largely obvious when I can. Being a student of Linguistics, it may not come off as well as I hope it did.
> 
> http://fallout.gamepedia.com/Language_of_the_Dead_Horses

Fire-Claw kicked Sting-Jaw hard in the ribs; the unconscious man slid across the ground, skidding like a slab of raw meat across a board. There was an anger in Fire-Claw's eyes that reminded her of the zealous hatred in a yao guai's glare. He looked from the unconscious man to Calista, holding out a hand to her.

"Sting-Jaw es flak," he said, his voice heavy and angry. He closed his eyes, concentrating. "Chin dee flak! Joshua use word… filth?"

Calista took the offered hand and pulled herself up from the ground. "Yes," she said with a nod. "Filth." She gave Sting-Jaw a good kick as well, her foot squashing into his stomach with a soft thud. "Thanks, I mean, dank ni."

Fire-Claw nodded once, then resignedly picked up one of the man's ankles and used it to drag him along the edge of the river bank, not caring when his head thunked against a rock. The pair of them began to slowly walk back to the encampment.

"Veh ni finn?" Calisa asked, looking around. There was no easy way for him to have seen either Sting-Jaw or herself from where they were, yet he had appeared out of nowhere at just the right moment.

"Shih luisteren, geheren bim, da chin dee. Volgen ni heer." Fire-Claw spoke quietly, making it even harder for her to understand him. It sounded like a different language altogether, yet the words were so similar to those of the Northern tribe, making it even more confusing. The noise of Sting-Jaw dragging behind them rang in her ears. His arm splashed into the water, but Fire-Claw didn't seem to care.

She ran her hands along her arms as they walked, brushing away the red-brown dirt. A streak of blood followed her fingers from a cut near her shoulder. She smudged it between her fingers. Blood wasn't something she was afraid of, she was even fairly used to seeing it, but she sight of the red stripe down her arm made her want to wash it off.

Only the sound of Sting-Jaw's arm dragging in the water kept her facing forward. She didn't want to turn and see him; see if he was alive or dead, awake or still totally out-cold. If she never saw him again she'd never miss him.

When they reached the bottom of the approach up to the encampment, Fire-Claw put out an arm to stop her. He held a finger to his lips, pointing at the moving shadows along the base of the high cliff wall. Someone was up and walking around.

Calista glanced back to the man on the ground, her gaze slipping down the leg still gripped in Fire-Claw's hand. A long streak of blood skidded along the sand behind them from beneath Sting-Jaw's head. It was thin and spotty. She only hoped that meant it had started to scab over, and not that he was just running out of blood to lose.

Fire-Claw hoisted the man onto his shoulder. Calista was surprised how quiet he was, even carrying a full-grown man; she didn't hear a single footfall. He walked up the path with a practiced ease, moving along the edge of the camp in the darkness.

"Slaap," he said, so quiet she wasn't sure she'd actually heard him or not. He pointed at her bed and doused fire. Not waiting for a reply, he continued on around the edge of the camp towards the caves.

Calista crawled close to the ground to her place by the fizzled-out fire. She sat on the ground, not wanting to get dirt in the furs of her bedroll. Her eyes followed Fire-Claw, watching as he deftly made his way around the camp.

Near where Fire-Claw walked, a young man was sitting at a fire, running his hands through his hair and staring at the ground. Calista's breath caught; she didn't know what would happen if Fire-Claw was caught bringing Sting-Jaw back to his cave. If anyone found out she had wounded him, possibly even fatally wounded him, it could ruin the few remaining ties between the Dead Horses in the North and those in the South. She chewed her lip, watching the pair.

Her heart stopped briefly as the young man looked up and looked directly at her. She realized she'd been staring, but she didn't know if he could see her. His face turned back to the fire, and Calista started breathing again.

Fire-Claw slipped silently past him, and into a shallow cave. She couldn't quite see what he was doing, but he seemed to position Sting-Jaw's body very carefully, with exacting movements.

Calista's eyes refused to close, even after brushing the dirt from her clothes and laying back down to sleep; she couldn't look stop seeing Sting-Jaw's limp body every time her she slammed her eyes shut. She was sure he wasn't dead, but he wasn't going to wake up very fast. Part of her was afraid he would get up. The rest of her was afraid that he wouldn't.

* * *

The bright light of the sun woke her, glaring into her eyes. Her arm ached and her neck was stiff, propped at an odd angle facing the place where Fire-Claw had dropped Sting-Jaw. Even though it was early, there were several men and women crowded around the place. She saw that he was being moved and his wound was being treated.

She sat up and stretched, the tension slowly easing out of her knotted shoulders. A noise behind her reminded her that she wasn't traveling alone.

"Morning," she said to Jay, as he handed her a cup of hot, brown something. Sniffing it, she decided it must be tea.

"You sleep alright? 'S a nasty cut on your arm," he asked, his voice showing genuine concern.

"Oh, I'm fine," Calista said, brushing away flecks of dried blood. "I rolled right off my bedroll and cut my arm on a rock in the middle of the night. Heard something that sounded like a gecko's hiss, but it was just the fire going out," she said, gesturing to the doused flames. "I think it rained a little during the night."

Jay laughed. "I think I've almost forgot what rain is." The wrinkles creasing his brow smoothed. He started to speak again, but looked past her instead.

Calista turned to see what he was watching. A young girl was walking towards them holding a red basket filled with fruit. When she reached them, she shoved it towards Calista with the unintended roughness that came with her youth.

"Naymst," she said, her voice high but clear. "Es von pada."

With slow hands, Calista took the basket and smiled. "Vaas ni pada?" she asked, looking around to see if any of the men were watching them.

"Fire-Claw!" the little girl said with a grin. "En meer es Lilla."

"Dank ni, Lilla," Calista said, giving the girl's arm a gentle squeeze. Lilla smiled even wider, then ran back to her father, who picked her up with a similar grin. Fire-Claw nodded once to her, then walked back to his wife, carrying Lilla with him. She sat on his arm, with her arms around his neck, her hair falling into her face as she reached out for her mother when she was close enough. The woman took her, kissed the girl's forehead, then walked back into one of the caves.

"I guess it really was a good move," Calista said, taking a sip of her tea. She set the basket down on the ground between Jay and herself. "Giving him that gecko, I mean."

"Well that slice in your arm sure brought your gecko-karma back to neutral; maybe you best leave them all alone for a while. Don't know what'll happen if you find another one," Jay said, grinning wryly.

"I'll likely split it's skull in two," Calista said conversationally, taking a bite out of a banana yucca.

Jay nearly choked on his tea, laughing. "Sounds about like you," he wheezed, pounding his chest.

"What's going on over there?" she asked, changing the subject. "Looks like someone's sick." She pointed across the encampment to where a small crowd still hovered around Sting-Jaw.

"Don't know for certain, but I'm sure we'll find out somehow. They might want to trade for something to help with it." Jay set down his tin cup, now empty. With a groan, he stood, and started the careful work of laying out his wares on blankets.

Calista carefully walked down to the river, easily avoiding the places she'd tripped now that she could see in the broad daylight. She'd expected to see blood streaking along the dirt where Sting-Jaw had been dragged along, but it looked as though Fire-Claw had covered the trail. It seemed odd, but she didn't know what he'd planned. He had been so careful not to wake anyone the night before when he'd brought Sting-Jaw back to the camp, but had told her nothing but to go to sleep. He wasn't one for talking much, Calista knew, but she would have preferred to know what he wanted to do.

Crouching down by the water, she scooped up the clear water with a cupped hand, rubbing away the blood and dirt. It stung; a flash of panic ran through her mind, realizing it was almost certainly infected.

"Calm down," she muttered to herself, washing more water down her arm. "I've got enough healing powder to fix up half the Legion."

The thought of the Legion and who she hoped to find there flashed through her mind with the idle comment. Had her father seen any of these people in his travels? Maybe he had known Sting-Jaw's father, or perhaps even seen Fire-Claw playing as a child. The thought humanized him in a way that descriptions of him hadn't; there was an air of immortality around him.

Smooth-talker, silent, invisible, beautiful, every word attributed to him seemed to be a word in praise of his skill. No one seemed to think he was bad at anything. The thought that he at least may have seen people helped make him real.

She wanted to live up to the legend that he'd become, but she still reviled the man. He was cruel, heartless, did everything for his own gain or for the good of the Legion. Sure the Legion had secured the South and made safe the roads. In fact they had made many things better. Water was free and easily attainable under Caesar's rule, farms were protected, and raiders were largely a thing of the past. But these were all things she grew up with anyway, living in Zion.

The brilliant blue of the sky was interrupted by a single crow flying overhead as she looked up. She couldn't image anywhere where the sky was grey-green with lingering radiation, like Joshua had told her about, anywhere where the ground was cracked and infertile from war. Anywhere without the clash of the red sand and the sun against the blue sky and water.

Tingles ran through her arm as she massaged away the dirt. She shook her thoughts clear, seeing that it was clean and red from rubbing. The sun dried her skin quickly as she walked back up to where Jay was patiently selling his wares.

The Bull was standing beside the row of blankets, arms crossed and jaw set. His ancient skin hung from his bones like cloth draped over branches, and his feet stayed still as roots in the earth. When she neared him, she bowed her head respectfully. He looked her over before nodding back once with a wheezed "yah ehtag."

"Yah ah tag," she said, again nodding.

His scratchy voice was quiet, but strong. "What is your name?" he asked.

Her eyes widened for a moment, hearing him speak outside the tribal language. "Calista," she said, being sure not to stare into his eyes.

"No. Your real name. I know you are Calista, raised by Joshua Graham. You are the daughter of the Outlander," he said. He still stood stiffly.

Calista swallowed once. She hated using her tribal name; she didn't identify with it. She was Calista, and having a tribal name hadn't made them any more comfortable with her.

"Cazadore," she said, checking his expression. "Cazadore of the Northern tribe of the Dead Horses of Zion."

The Bull seemed to think the name over, nodding slowly and chewing on one side of his lip. He said nothing, simply returning to his observations. His shoulders were a little more relaxed, but his gaze was still cold.

" _Perhaps it's just his way, after so many years leading the Southern Tribe,"_ Calista thought. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small packet of healing powder, using spit to slick a few pinches of it against the cut on her arm. Nimble fingers secured a thin bandage around it, deftly tying a knot with one hand.

"You're the one that makes the strong healing powders?" The Bull's voice was inquisitive this time.

"Yes," she said, turning back to face him again. "I grow the plants myself, as well as cure them and grind them."

The Bull nodded. "They are good. Better than others'."

"I've had a lot of time to work on perfecting it. Joshua uses it for his skin; he helped me find what works best."

"Mm," the Bull hummed in agreement. "Do you have enough to sell some?"

"Of course!" Calista said, trying not to sound too eager. "How much is needed? Is someone hurt?"

The Bull laughed hard, arms dropping as he buckled over in a fit, his mouth splitting into a massive grin revealing numerous missing teeth. "Idiot Sting-Jaw fell and split his head on rock by his sleeping place. He will heal, but scar will always remind him to look where he steps in the night."

Calista couldn't help but grin herself. "Yes, I can spare enough for him, I'm sure."

After working out the trade, The Bull pointed her to where Sting-Jaw was laid out. Most of the blood had been washed away, but the broken skin clung on in chunks around the wound. She admonished herself for the sick, twisted happiness the sight caused her. If it had been anyone else it would be another story, but this man was deserving of what she'd given him – and perhaps more, if this was the way he treated women regularly.

One of the women applied a small handful of the powder to the skin, wrapping around his head with damp bandages. Calista noted that the woman didn't seem to care much about working gently. She let his head drop back to the makeshift-bed with a _thunk_ , the bone hitting the wood a little harder than was wise.

The woman moved briskly, tidying the area. She was careful to knot the pouch of healing powder shut, but nothing else received such treatment. A pile of blood-stained rags slipped off the table. She gave them a frustrated kick and they flew out of sight.

Calista heard her muttering various words, most notably ones that translated to something like "idiot" in English. A few other women tried to calm her down, but she shooed them away quickly. With nothing to do but wait, the woman set to work digging the stone out from the ground beside his sleeping furs.

There were enough furs there for two people, Calista noticed, confused. She decided though that it would be better to just leave. Quick feet carried her back to Jay and the Bull. Jay was talking to a few of the other Dead Horses, arguing over the price of a cooking pot.

Stepping around the group, she moved to stand next to the Bull. He glanced at her, but didn't say anything.

"Does Sting-Jaw have a—"

"Yes. Her name is Gezen-Crai. Very, very angry," the Bull cut her off. "Probably angry rock didn't kill him." He grinned, just a little.

So did Calista.

* * *

Only a few short hours later, Jay and Calista were packing up their things and loading the packs onto Clarabelle's back again. Jay hadn't said anything about how well or poorly the trading had gone, but the way he was humming suggested he was pleased.

The old brahmin groaned under the new weight as they added more and more to her packs.

"Well it's a good thing I sold more than I bought," Jay said, rubbing Clarabelle's neck. "I think she's going into retirement at the end of this route. Maybe I should too, I'm gettin too old for these trips!" he said, laughing.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Calista said, though she didn't believe the words as she said them. The brahmin must have been nearly as old as she herself was, perhaps even older.

"I don't know," Jay said, his voice weary and dragging with concern. "She's not as young as she used to be."

"None of us are," Calista pointed out, cocking her head to the side. "That's the funny thing about how time works."

"Says the 18-year-old hopping around the canyon like a baby gecko," said Jay. He pulled on all the straps holding the packs in place as he spoke, checking and double-checking that they held.

"It's true though," Calista said, laughing a little to ease the tension. "Maybe she just needs a break for a while. Give her a season to graze somewhere pretty and I'm sure she'll perk up."

"True that. At least I hope it is!" Jay said with a short, hollow laugh. He patted the brahmin on her back, smiling at the low, happy _murrn_ she gave in response.

Calista crouched down and tied the top of her pack shut, drawing the cords tightly together so nothing would shift while she carried it. It seemed lighter, even though she'd only sold a few pouches of her healing powder, and the caps she'd received for them were actually heavier than it. The stash of caps at the bottom of her pack clinked slightly as she shook the pack to settle its contents.

"Yah ehtag," said a deep voice behind her. She recognized it as Fire-Claw's.

She turned, her heel digging into the dirt as she twisted on it. "Yah ah tag," she responded, standing up.

"Dead Horse welcome, always," he said, reiterating his words from the night before. "Return? Stahp heer. Ya?"

Calista smiled, nodding. "Ya. Meer stahp. Zookuh ni."

"Gut," Fire-Claw said. He smiled, his gaze shifting to Jay behind her.

"We're good to go, Cal," Jay said. He didn't sound impatient, but she was sure he was anxious to get moving.

"Alright," she said over her shoulder to him. With a sigh, she picked up her pack and settled it as comfortably as she could on her shoulders, then turned to Fire-Claw.

"Dank ni fuhr alle. Goot gonen, ahk iss," she said. She held out her arm, palm open and up.

Fire-Claw took her arm in his own hand, accepting the gesture of respect and friendship. "Goot gonen, ahk iss." He held her arm firmly for a moment, smiling. When he let go, she wondered if she'd ever see him again. As she turned and set off down the path back towards the river, she hoped he would.


	10. The Cloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I managed to get out a chapter! Lots of projects getting in my way. Thanks to my readers and followers for keeping me feeling so positive about this story. I feel so out-classed by your own writing most of the time, and your kind words mean the world to me! I'm trying to pick up the pace of this story a bit, so we'll see where that takes me. I've made some more additions to the lore here, so please, bear with me. I don't add anything without reason.
> 
> As a side note: I now have a tumblr! Check it out! adira-tyree.tumblr.com.  
> And if you haven't seen it already, I have a more-frequently posted on LiveJournal at legate-adira.livejournal.com.
> 
> I love talking fic and fandom, so feel free to give me a shout on either site. =]

The air caught in Calista’s lungs as a flash of dust blew across her face. She pulled her shirt up to cover her nose so she could breathe and walk at the same time, but Jay had stopped.

“Here,” said Jay, his voice muffled. He held out a bandana to her, which she quickly tied over her nose and mouth. Jay was doing the same with another.

“What happened?” Calista asked, squinting. The smoke burned her eyes and made her skin tingle.

“Smells like the Bullfrogs finally lost their war with the Orabora,” he said. He held a hand over his eyes, trying to see out into the wilderness through the fast-rolling smoke. “I can’t say for sure but we better get the hell off the path though. We ain’t gonna, last long in what’s coming.” His coughing in between the last few words emphasized his meaning as he pointed to a tall, thick column of smoke in the distance.”

“The Orabora?” Calista said, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up straight at the mention of the name. "I saw a small cave on our right not far back.” She held the bandana closer against her face. “Want me to go check it for—“

“No time, we’ll have to try our luck. How far?” he said, already pulling the distressed Clarabelle around.

“Maybe 30’ or so.”

The air thickened with smoke as they moved forward, making it even harder to breathe. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she ran. Her knees wanted to give out but she wouldn’t let them as she pushed them painfully fast through the smoke. It was blacker than tar and smelled of burned wood and charring flesh.

Calista didn’t want to think about whether or not the flesh she smelled was human. War among tribes was common, but annihilation was something that most tried to avoid both inflicting and being the victim of. Some argued it was a remnant fear from the War; Calista just understood it as no animal liking to die.

Herself included.

She reached the shallow cave just as the wind began to pick up, gusting in strong bursts that nearly pushed her over. She stumbled in, helping to pull the whining brahmin in after her, flattening herself against one wall as the dust and rocks and grit began flying up around the entrance. It was only a just deep enough for the three of them to stand in, more a niche in the rock than an actual cave, but it was better shelter than the open air.

Jay moved around the brahmin to stand next to Calista at the back of the tiny cave.

“The hell’s going on out there?” she shouted over the sudden roaring of the wind.

“Sounds like a bomb went off, probably a mini-nuke or something. The way the wind’s going, I’d say a mini and a whole lot of grenades. Maybe some rockets too or C4,” he said. Jay covered his ears with his hands, shaking his head.

“Where in the _fuck_ did they get one of those out here?” Calista shouted.

Jay said nothing, still shaking his head. He was breathing hard, bent double over himself as the stone around them began to shake.

The blast of air blew past them quickly, leaving a fine layer of ash across everything it touched. Calista’s ears ached and squealed from the sudden pressure and noise. She crushed her eyes shut, trying to squeeze out the shrill ringing.

“I don’t know,” Jay said, sighing as he finally dropped his hands. “I’m not sure I want to think about it. What I do know is that we won’t be staying with the Bullfrogs any time soon.”

Calista’s hands were shaking, but she tried her best to sound calm. “What do you want to do then? This place is too small to camp out, and we’ve probably got less than four hours until it’s too dark to travel.”

Jay panted hard, thinking. The air wheezing in and out of his mouth and nose was enough to make Calista nearly hyperventilate herself. “Well, we can’t really afford to stop. We’re already behind schedule as it is, with Clarabelle going so slow now,” he said. “We just have to risk it. There’s always Rad Away if we really need it.”

“Do you want me to scout ahead? See if there’s anyone out there?” Calista asked, her hand already moving to rest on her tomahawk. She tried not to think about the fact that they should probably be taking some Rad-X too.

“No, it’s not worth the time.”

“We’re at most a day behind, it’s not that bad!” Calista shouted, amazed.

“A day behind and we’ve only been on the road for four. We’ll just have to—“

“Jay!”

“Damnit! I just wanna get out of here!” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth so fast they blurred together. His hands shook as he stared at her, knuckles white from clinging on to Clarabelle’s lead.

Calista took a deep breath before quietly speaking. “It’s our lives we’re gambling with if we don’t see what’s out there. I don’t know much about the Orabora themselves, but anyone who’d nuke a whole tribe is dangerous enough to avoid. I can be quick about it. Give Clarabelle a break for a few minutes; she’s probably terrified.”

The brahmin was panting uneasily from both mouths, her heads looking wildly around in all directions, though she didn’t move her feet. With a sigh, Jay nodded his agreement.

He crossed his arms, letting out a heavy breath through his nose. “Joshua told me you were stubborn. But he also told me when you’re stubborn about somethin’ you’re usually in the right.” His tone was serious and his eyes hard. “You got 20 minutes. If you’re not back by then we’re goin’ on ahead anyway.”

Calista turned and stepped out into the sun without another word, pulling her tomahawk from her belt as she moved.

The ground felt hot beneath her feet, the thin, grey-red ash soft but painful all at once. She put on her sandals as fast as she could while still walking, trying to think of the best way to get a good look around. The only place she’d be able to see anywhere with certainty would be the cliff tops, but she couldn’t see an easy way up to them.

Moving quickly, she jogged along the cliff edge in the narrow pass. There it was darker and harder for her to be seen, but paper-dry grasses made a loud rustling sound as they brushed against her knees. The noise was practically a New Vegas neon reading “EASY PREY” with an arrow pointing down to her shoulders, but she had to risk it if they were going to make decent progress.

Just as she was about to give up and turn back, she saw a promising sight. The cliff edge ahead was still steep, but it was sloped just enough that she might be able to grip the rock and climb up carefully.

She set down her pack, laying it flat on the ground behind a few patches of grass. The dirt it had accumulated made it near invisible against the stones. Her hands slipped as she tried to climb, slick with sweat. Calista cursed under her breath, but quickly rubbed her hands on the dirt to chalk them, then climbed up the bumpy stone with ease.

Calista gasped, jaw dropping at the sight that met her. The destruction was obvious. A tall column of pale grey smoke rose into the sky, billowing up and out to the sides. A rolling, fluffy base and wide red-grey cap said it all: a mushroom cloud. Her eyes widened, taking it in. The smoke went so high up into the air she could hardly see it all without laying back on the ground.

The sight of it made her throat dry. Her legs felt like jelly beneath her, but instinct took over before she could collapse. She had already started to scramble back down the cliff when she remembered that she was looking for people, not clouds, but her eyes found no one. The only thing she was sure she could see was a small group of bark scorpions across the canyon. She continued to climb back down.

“It was a nuke alright,” Calista said, panting, as she jogged back up to Jay. He started moving again as soon as he saw her.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve seen them things before. A foul, evil thing it is to use one.”

The pair walked along the edge of the water, speaking quietly. Calista noticed Jay had tightened Clarabelle’s packs down so that they wouldn’t rattle. She tried not to look at the ash along the ground. Even the feel of it brushing against her feet in the wind made her queasy; mixed in with it all would be the charred dust of human flesh.

“You really think it was the Orabora?” Calista asked, her voice wavering.

Jay looked up into the sky, taking in the slowly bending column of smoke. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“It’s so far North for them though,” she said. She crossed her arms, gripping her elbows.

“True that, but they’re pushing farther and farther every day. And there are a whole lotta tribes that just aren’t ready for their kind of warfare.” Jay sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a dirty, sweat-slicked hand. “They don’t fight fair, but that ain’t about to stop them.”

“Won’t the Legion do something about them?”

Jay laughed and shook his head. “Even if the Oraboras weren’t the one tribe Caesar respected, this isn’t his land. They won’t fight up here with Joshua waiting for them at Dead Horse Point to take it all back from them. Caesar won’t come near here. He’d have to face the fact that Joshua lived, and he won’t have that. That’s why so many folks come up into Zion to escape the Legion. They know they won’t get followed!”

Calista mulled the words over in her mind. Suddenly it made sense to her why her father would bring her to Joshua, of all people, for protection.

A pang of concern and guilt, remembering that she wouldn’t be home in her tent again that night. She wanted to be there to warn Joshua if the Orabora were fighting their way North, to fight alongside him if it came down to that.

The Orabora were not a tribe to be trifled with. Their body count was near as high as the Legion’s, but with more gore and destruction. They didn’t take slaves, they left no survivors. If a tribe was targeted by them, that tribe would be gone within a month.

Some said that they weren’t really human, that they could live forever, but no man ever saw one and lived. It seemed that they were an infinite people with a constant need for land.

“Wait a minute,” Calista said, shaking her head free from her thoughts. “Caesar respects them?”

“Yeah. For a while people thought he was afraid of them. He says they gave many Legion soldiers a good death, and that it was something the men and women of the Mojave couldn’t do.” Jay yanked the bandana down off his face and took in a deep breath. “So he lets them take the tribes they want because he doesn’t need them anyway. Caesar’s more focused on food and infrastructure than expansion at this point.”

Calista pulled down her bandana too. The air was breathable, but something in it was changed. It clung to her skin and tasted of ash. “Why not? He’s the great conqueror of those 107 tribes, isn’t he?”

“Well, people debate whether he really went after those last 21 or if he still only really took 86. That’s him though. Been killin’ everything that won’t join him since he started out,” said Jay. “Like I said though, he doesn’t need any more people right now. He’s gotta work to keep people following him.”

Calista stepped into the water to avoid the carcass of a dead molerat. When her feet emerged, grey gunk dribbled down her ankles. A shiver ran up and down her body at the sight of it, but she kept walking anyway. Clarabelle murrned as Jay lead her around the other side of the dead animal, anxious from the smell of the rotting flesh.

“I dunno,” Jay said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel right.” He glanced around the cliffs, not moving his head.

“Do you think we’re being watched?” Calista asked, trying to keep her tone casual. If they were, it wouldn’t do any good to let on about their suspicion.

Jay shook his head. “That’s the problem. I _don’t_ feel like we’re bein’ watched. And you didn’t see anyone? Anywhere?”

“Nothing,” Calista confirmed with a solid shake of her head.

“Well, we might find someone sooner or later. We’re going to have to go up above on the cliffs for a while when we get near that village. If we try to walk through there the radiation might kill us.” Jay’s hand tightened on Clarabelle’s lead. “If you spot a good shallow slope up to the top, let me know. I don’t normally like to travel up there, so I wouldn’t know where those paths are.”

The sun was sinking dangerously low in the sky when they finally found a path up to the clifftops that Clarabelle would be able to make it up. It was late enough though that they argued whether or not to settle in where they were or to go up to the top and spend the night there instead.

“If we go to the top we’ll be out of that wind-tunnel that’s just washing us with radiation,” Calista said, shoving a few loose strands of hair out of her face.

“But if we stay, we’ll be nearer the water, and better hidden,” Jay countered. “We could set up right over there in that little alcove.”

“It won’t matter how well we’re hidden if we’re dead from rad poisoning in the morning,” Calista muttered. Her arms were crossed and she was staring out across the water, leaning on one hip.

Jay sighed. “No, this time I’m right. ‘Cause if we go up there? We’re a prime target for animals and tribals alike.

“Hey now,” Calista said, “I’m a tribal. What’s wrong with tribals?”

“That’s not what I meant, Cal,” Jay said, pulling Clarabelle over to the spot he’d pointed to. “And you know it.”

“It’s true though, I am.”

“Yes you are. But you’re more reasonable usually.”

“Only usually?”

“Yes, only usually.”

“Name one time I was being unreasonable with you,” Calista said, holding up a finger.

“Right now,” Jay said. He dropped his sleeping roll to the ground.

Calista stopped, thinking over the options. It was true that their place by the river might be safer from any unfriendliness out in the night, but there was nothing to say it was safe from radiation. Then again, there was nothing to say it was particularly rad-heavy either.

“Fair,” she said, shrugging. “All right. You win.” She carefully set down her pack and started setting up her own bedroll.

Jay sighed, letting his arm drop from the strap it was unhooking from the pack brahmin. “I don’t want to be right,” he said, staring forward into nothing. “I want to be trading with the Bullfrogs and not worrying about Orabora. Instead I’m debating between gecko jerky and cold mantis legs for dinner so we don’t have to light a fire.”

“You’ll sleep better on the mantis,” Calista said quietly. “The salt on the jerky will wake you up.”

Jay only nodded and took continued unpacking the tired brahmin. Calista wanted to help him, her sleeping roll was already rolled out and set up, but the way his eyes kept staring through things made her stay still. Something was bothering him that he wasn’t telling her about, she was sure, but she didn’t want to push the subject.

“I’m sorry I’m being so argumentative,” she offered quietly. She rubbed her arms, looking out at the water as she spoke.

“It’s all right. The radiation can do that, even in small doses,” he said, setting down the last of the packs.

“Really?” Calista asked. “I don’t know much about it other than it’s bad.”

Jay forced a quiet laugh. “Yeah, it’s bad. That pretty much sums up all you’ll really need to know about it. It’s bad, and too much of it might kill you – if you’re lucky.”

Calista couldn’t help but feel that the life had been sucked out of the day itself, but she couldn’t close her eyes. “Do you want me to keep watch? I don’t think I could sleep just yet anyway.”

Jay shrugged. “If it’ll make you feel better. Here,” he said, and handed her his rifle. “Don’t use it unless you have to. If we have to abandon camp we’ll lose everything. I just can’t leave her packed up overnight anymore. I don’t know how long she’ll last at this rate.”

The brahmin was wheezing very slightly, munching on a bit of tall grass she’d found against the cliff. A sore had formed on the side of one of her necks, and it oozed slightly. Jay had tried bandaging it the day before, but the fabric rubbed and made it worse instead. Calista had given him some healing powder to apply to it, which he accepted gratefully. It seemed to have helped a little, but she wasn’t willing to lend her hands to help with this one. Clarabelle was a nice enough creature, but brahmin still disgusted her.

Jay handed her a mantis leg, which she eagerly began to eat. They hadn’t stopped for lunch because of the explosion, and she was only just then realizing how hungry she was. She bit into the stringy meat, pretending not to notice the sour flavor it held; something about the chemicals in a mantis’s body gave it a strange flavor. With a little bit of agave juice it was pretty good, but plain it tasted terrible.

Still, when a free meal walks up and tries to kick you in the face, you don’t just tell it to go away.

She threw the bones into the river once she’d sucked and tore away as much of the meat as she could manage. The water slowly carried it down river, her eyes following it until it sunk down out of sight.

“Get some sleep,” Calista said, leaning the rifle up against her shoulder as she spoke. “We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

“You sure you want first shift?” Jay asked. “It’ll make waking up to keep moving harder on you.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. Too tense.”

“All right. Wake me up in a few hours and I’ll take over,” Jay said. “And thanks… Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Calista stared up at the sky, staring at the place where the mushroom cloud had been only hours ago. It had vanished so quickly, it seemed almost an insult to the lives it must have claimed. The rifle felt heavy against her shoulder, but in an oddly comforting way. In front of her, the river reflected the light of the moon, shimmering on the water.

Up above, the stars seemed cold. Thoughts of the lives so meaninglessly taken flooded her mind. She didn’t know anything about the Bullfrog tribe, but she was sure they hadn’t done something so terrible that they deserved to suffer the fate of nuclear genocide. Calista drew her legs up against her chest as she thought, wrapping an arm around Jay’s rifle.

The silence of the night was unnerving. She could hear Clarabelle’s munching, and Jay’s wheezy breathing, but no other sounds came forth. No night-time bugs chirping, the water was nearly still. Even the wind had stopped, finally seeming to have blown itself out after a day of powerful gusts.

Soon they would head on into Bullfrog Bay.

Soon they would see the destruction wrought by the Orabora. They would keep a distance from it, to avoid the worst of the lingering radiation, but that wouldn’t stop them from seeing straight into the camp. From seeing anyone that was left.

Calista knew enough about nukes to expect at least most of the camp to have been killed by the blast. Anyone else would probably have been killed by the Orabora in some way or another.

She turned the thought of the explosion over and over in her mind. It didn’t make any sense. If the Orabora were out to take more land, there was no explainable reason for them to destroy it with the radiation of a nuke. If they wanted to just kill the people, a nuke was going a bit overboard.

An entire tribe worth of people.

The thought was too much. _Maybe not all of them. Maybe it was a big enough tribe that some of them escaped._ But the thought of escaping when the rest of the tribe died was too horrifying for Calista to comprehend. Her mind was slowly falling in on itself, finding darker and darker thoughts as the night grew colder.

Her hands were shaking right up into her shoulders; she needed to calm down, to think straight, to relax. She remembered what other caravaners had said before when they thought no one was listening, about how to take the edge off.

As carefully as she could, she set down the rifle and crept over to the pack bags. One little dose would do it, she was sure. She’d used it before to help manage pain. Jay would never notice it was gone.


	11. Down by the Bay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress! This month has been much more hectic than I'd expected. If you want to buy a shirt for the writing club I run at my college, or run in a race with us, or work with us for our writing for charity project: I've got you covered. Otherwise, everything has pretty much been on hold. I finally decided to stay up late these last couple nights and finish this up. Because I love my readers and don't want them to leave me. *clings*
> 
> I've been posting notes and things relating to my writing of this story on tumblr and LiveJournal. More about my crafty fallout-props on LiveJournal and more about the writing on tumblr, but hey. It all works out. If you ever have anything you want to talk about, feel free to shoot me a question on either site. I'm always down to chat!

_Calista rolled over, shifting to try to get comfortable, but a sharp ache shot through her arm. She jolted back from it, looking down to see—_

_“Why do you do this to yourself?” Joshua asked her._

_“Do what?” Calista asked, the words coming out too fast, too defensive._

_He held up a single, long, slender needle. The tube attached to it had once contained Med-X, but was now drained and devoid of its contents. Without the pale blue substance inside, it seemed cold._

_“What’s that?” she asked. But Joshua knew better. She could pretend to be oblivious all she wanted, he would still know what she had done._

_She knew that look, the one where he stared into your soul and you knew he was raising an eyebrow somewhere under all those bandages. A shiver ran through her as she dropped her eyes to the ground._

_“I just wanted to try it,” she muttered, staring at Joshua’s shoes as he moved to sit on the ground next to her. “I heard some of the caravan men talking about the way it makes you feel better and I wanted to try it.”_

_“Calista,” he started, his tone soft, “this is a dangerous thing to play with. It can lead to a dependency, a reliance on chemical substances that you don’t need.”_

_She rolled her eyes, waiting for something about “God.” A story from the bible that, somehow, related exactly to the moment. A psalm to relax her when she just wanted to roll around in the dirt and think about funny-colored geckos instead._

_“I understand your curiosity; it’s only natural,” he said, continuing when she said nothing. “We all have things we have done to satisfy an itch, a craving. But we often come to… regret such things, later in life.”_

_“Oh yeah? Well what have you done that you regret?” she jabbed. She could see the flash of some emotion in his eyes, but it was gone as fast as it came._

_“No. But I have come to question my past actions in regards to many things,” he said, looking down at his hands, folded between his knees. “I only hope that you will learn faster than I did that not all things lead to the end we desire.”_

_“It’s not like anything even happened,” she said with an angry huff._

_“Maybe not, but you could have hurt yourself.” He kept looking at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I need you to promise me you won’t do this again.”_

_“It’s not even a big deal!” she said, raising her voice. She tried to throw his hand off by rolling her shoulder, but he gripped it tighter. It hurt just a little, but she didn’t say anything._

_“Calista,” he said, his voice heavy, dripping with the demand of compliance. He didn’t bother to ask a second time._

_“Fine, whatever,” she said with a groan of frustration._

_The hand didn’t move._

_Calista chewed on her lip. It was becoming obvious that Joshua wasn’t going to give in; he rarely did. “All right,” she said. “I promise.”_

_Joshua sighed, letting go of her. He crossed his arms and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “You’re not the only one to do wicked things in this world; I only wish to help you avoid them, as much as you can.”_

_“I know,” Calista said, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I just wanted to do something_ different _.”_

_“Why don’t you find Falling-Waters? I’m sure she’d—“_

_“Joshua! She’s so young!” Calista interjected._

_Joshua laughed, dropping his head. “She’s already almost eleven.”_

_“Yeah,” Calista said pointedly, “and I’m_ fourteen _.”_

_“Well,” Joshua said, still laughing, “I suppose she is a bit young for you right now. Perhaps the Lord needed a more… obvious way to show me that it’s time you learn a trade.”_

_“A trade?” Calista asked, sitting up straighter. Anything to change the monotony of day-to-day life._

_“Yes, a trade. What would you like to do?” he asked, glancing towards her._

_“Anything?”_

_He nodded._

_Her options seemed endless, with the door thrown open to the world around her. If she could be anything she wanted –a healer, a scout, a warrior, a craftsman– then she had to think carefully._

_Being a warrior sounded the most interesting; she could finally prove to the rest of the Dead Horses that she could be good at something. She was sure that if Joshua taught her, she could do almost anything. But warriors often had nothing to do, aside from sit around and listen to Joshua or share old war stories amongst themselves. Having something to fight with would make her stand out, but she hated the thought of downtime._

_“What about hunting?” she asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth as soon as she thought of them._

_Joshua gave a short, half-hearted laugh. “You wish to hunt? To learn to kill, day in and day out, for the rest of your life?”_

_“Well, I mean… I just want to know how,” she said, looking around. “It would keep me busy, and I could be helpful.”_

_Joshua hummed to himself, thinking. “You are able to keep quiet. You have a habit of sneaking up on others as well, and you do know the land as well as any scout here.”_

_Calista’s heart pounded in her ears, every noise around her growing louder and louder – the wind, footsteps, laughter, the clashing of war-clubs._

_“I suppose this was bound to happen, one way or another,” he said finally. “God willing, you will learn to hunt for your people.”_

_Calista squealed with happiness, throwing her arms around Joshua and nearly knocking him over. She was too happy to care about muttering an apology._

_After a brief moment of excitement, it appeared that Joshua had had plenty of Calista for one day; she was used to being too much for him, even though there were times it upset her. “Enough,” he said gently, prying her off his shoulders. “We will deal with this tomorrow.”_

_“Oh but Joshua, it’s not even dark yet!” she said, disappointed._

_“It can, and will, wait,” he said, standing up. “Until then, think about your decision. You need to be sure that this is what you want.”_

_“But—“_

_“I will see you at dinner,” he said in a firm tone, ending the conversation. He looked down to see Calista just as she went back to staring at her dirt-stained bare feet and picking at the grit under her fingernails. “I expect you’ll want to tell everyone about your decision then,” he said, his voice softer._

_Calista grinned, looking back up at him and nodding. “Falling-Waters is going to be_ so _jealous.”_

_Joshua sighed and shook his head, but Calista knew he was grinning. He turned and started the walk back toward the camp._

_“And Calista?” he asked over his shoulder._

_“Yes?”_

_“You always bite your lip when you lie.”_

_Calista’s gaze fell back on the empty syringe on the ground beside her as Joshua walked back to the camp. With a frantic twitch she wondered if he knew about the other one, still full, tucked away at the bottom of a box near her bed. Her legs moved beneath her before the rest of her mind caught up, snatching the empty with one hand as she started to silently run toward—_

 

“Come on,” Jay said, shaking her shoulder. “Time to get up.”

She groaned, rolling her head to one side. It was early, the sun not yet high enough to shine off the water. With bleary eyes it was hard to even tell that the sun had come up at all.

“I told ya it wouldn’t be that easy to get up after the first shift,” Jay said, grinning. He was holding a banana yucca. “Saved you the last one.”

That helped. Calista sat up slowly, pushing herself up with her arms. She stayed leaning back on them, taking the fruit with a smile. “Thanks.” Her blood felt muddy in her veins, her movements sluggish.

“If you see any more along the way, don’t hesitate to pick them. They’re good travel food. Last a while.”

“Alright.” Her thoughts struggled to reach the surface, as though her mind was stopped up by something just as bad as her blood. Lack of sleep always made her groggy, but this was different – more mellow than exhausted.

“You feel alright?” Jay asked, leaning forward, sitting on a rock. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you look awful.”

“Fine,” she said quickly, “just tired.” She worried that she’d spoken too fast, but Jay didn’t seem to notice. Even if she did feel sick, she wouldn’t tell him. If they had to take a day to rest, especially with Clarabelle moving so slow, Jay would be too obnoxious to handle.

 _“We’ve got to keep on schedule, Cal,”_ he’d said. _“If we fall behind, people get worried. Lot of dangerous things out in the world.”_

Calista rolled her eyes at the memory. The paths were nearly devoid of life most of the time. When they weren’t it was mostly that animals were down at the river to drink, which made them spook easily. Still, the thought of genocidal maniacs wasn’t the first thing to come to her mind about what she might find if she went off the main trail. Her heart began to beat harder in her chest.

“Today’s gonna be a bit strange,” Jay said, taking off his faded red baseball cap to run a hand through his greasy hair. “We’ve gotta get up top to avoid the radiation in the camp itself, but we have to stay close enough to see the path and follow it.”

“It should be fairly contained at least,” Calista said, hoping it would lighten his mood at least a little.

“True that. But we should still give it as much space as we can manage. I don’t wanna risk it at this point. We’re low on both Rad-X and Rad Away, and they’re both pretty hot sellers near New Vegas. I’d rather save them to sell if I can.”

A cold jolt ran down Calista’s spine. When had he checked their medicine supplies? And why hadn’t she noticed if they were running low on something?

“I thought you said we were all set on supplies the other day?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“We were. Things are different when you’re talking about walking through a canyon than when you’re walking through an irradiated village. Bullfrog Bay Camp was home to a good number of people. It’d take a pretty good size bomb to flatten the place, but since we haven’t seen anyone it _is_ possible that’s what happened.”

He shifted, flipping his hat around in his hands. “Now, judging from the direction of that ‘shroom cloud, I’d guess that was Stanton they blew up. It’s possible that Marin wasn’t touched. I’d doubt it, but it’s possible. Who knows about the Dock though.” He scratched his head again.

Calista wasn’t sure where he was talking about, tried to keep track of it. “You think some people might have survived then?”

“Can’t say,” he said, his tone somber. He put the hat back on. “All I know is that I wanna keep moving. I’ve been feeling like we’re being watched all morning.”

Wordlessly, Calista chewed down the end of the banana yucca.

When she was done and had stretched, the pair silently agreed it was time to move on to their next stop. They rushed to pack up Clarabelle and started their trek up the cliff. Neither spoke as they worked, Jay working to pack up her left side and Calista her right. Calista’s fingers kept slipping as she tried to belt the different packs onto the beast, watching the ribs move under Clarabelle’s skin in disgust. She tried not to think about what the radiation would do to the human body. To the bodies of the Bullfrog people.

Jay carried a few of the bags up the top of the cliff himself when the brahmin started struggling. Once there on flat land again he loaded her back up, and she made no protest. He pressed on at a faster pace than they had the day before.

“How far do you think we are from the village?” Calista asked, absently rubbing a sore spot on her forearm as she walked.

“Maybe an hour away, not far. If the terrain is as flat as it looks, maybe not even that.” Jay led Clarabelle along by her lead, the rope hanging slack between them. She was used to walking along behind him after so many years of travel up and down the canyon. She stayed closer to him than normal though in the unfamiliar territory, wheezing as she clambered along.

The upper level of the cliffs was fairly low where they walked, lowering down gradually to meet the bay again in the distance. The wind was harsh, blowing hard against them as they followed along the direction of the water. Calista pulled the bandana from the previous day out of her pocket and tied it over her mouth and nose to keep the sand out of her lungs. She quietly hummed songs to herself to pass the time, and keep her from constantly worrying about being followed; up on the cliff-top there was nowhere to hide anyway.

Sooner than she’d expected, they were within sight of the bay. Calista hadn’t seen it before, but had been told about its size and beauty by traders she’d met throughout her life. None of their stories did it justice; Bullfrog Bay was the most beautiful thing she’d set her eyes on. The still water was a perfect reflection of the morning above with clouds seeming to ghost across its surface. Near the shore however, the tall red mesas crept right into the bay and touched the sky.

It was the single largest body of water she’d seen in her life. From the highest tops of Dead Horse Point, she’d seen – even bigger than Od Hop early the day before, which they’d had to cross with a ferry operated by a small tribe of boatmen.

“Why do we have to go up here?” Calista asked, the sound of her own voice almost surprising her. “Don’t we have to keep heading South? This is North…”

“True that,” Jay said, staring forward. “And we probably don’t now. But if anythin’s left at Bullfrog Bay, we need to know about it. Even if it weren’t for that, this is the way I know for sure to get back to New Vegas. It’s always been on the route. The Bullfrogs have one of the biggest cities in Zion, and definitely the biggest around here. Used to say it was becomin’ the new New Caanan. ‘Newer Caanan,’ they used to call it.”

As they crested a shallow hill, they looked down towards the water. Calista gasped, her eyes growing wide as she saw the city he was talking about.

“Yeah,” Jay said, the back of his hand moving in front of his mouth as his expression turned to disgust. “Used to.”

The destruction was near total. It would have been better, Calista thought, if it was completely destroyed, but she could see traces of life having been lived there all too recently. A grey cloud hung through it, an all too real presence of the death the ground reeked of.

Skins of animals lay tethered to shattered tanning racks all around, only part-way through their stretching. Tents, clothes, beds, and more were all made from hides, laying patiently in the sun. Bones were used too, an eerie looking pile lay near one tent, along with several sacks leaking seeds and scorched fruits onto the ground.

“Holy hell,” Jay hissed under his breath. “I thought I’d seen everythin’, but this? This tops the list. And I’ve seen some downright disturbin’ things.”

Calista, on the other hand, hadn’t seen many disturbing things in her life. She’d heard stories from Joshua, or whispered ones about him. She’d been on hunts, butchered her own kills. She’d even seen a boy get his arm torn off in the jaws of a yao guai while trying to become a man.

It was all nothing compared to the cruel hand of the nuclear explosion.

Jay had been right, the nuke was only part of the explosion. It looked like it had gone off right in the center of the city’s main area. Everything directly facing it had been reduced to ashes. The initial explosion had triggered a series of smaller ones in long, straight lines that destroyed everything else in the village.

Nothing had been spared. Near the water lay the remains of several boats, lined up along the shore. Shards of some had blown into the bay itself, floating lazily along the still water. The stench of rotting fish wafted in the slight breeze from tents nearby them, the leather badly charred or destroyed on the side facing the village.

A dead man floated in the water, his back facing the sun. Seeing him made her realize what she hadn’t seen: the bodies. She looked again, despite her better judgment, and felt the sting of bile rising at the back of her throat.

Everywhere, between tents, in them, out in the open. Corpses: charred, twisted, limbs scattered and bent at odd angles. No blood even littered the already red earth, wounds instantly cauterized by the heat of the blast. All sizes. No one, not man nor woman nor child had been spared.

Calista had the sudden, sharp urge to vomit.

Work areas and fields alike were ruined; meager crops burned down by either the blast or a fire following it, mud-brick buildings and leather tents all razed to the ground. Fenced in pens were scattered with dead bighorners and brahmin. A few partially butchered geckos lay nearby as well.

In a large, open area not far from where she and Jay were walking, two children lay face down in the dirt. One looked like a little girl, her skin ravaged, was still clutching a doll in one hand. Her hair had burned up and scorched her scalp. The other child, several yards back and closer to the city, must have been nearly on top of a dynamite explosion and was unrecognizable; one of its legs lay several feet away, the torn-up foot hanging on by only a few strands of tendon.

Calista ran towards them, stopping only when Jay called out to her.

“Murderers,” she said, hardly able to speak. “Vile. Unspeakable—”

“Yes. Yes they are,” Jay said, his voice dark. Calista turned back to look at him.

His eyes lingered near the center of the city, where the only thing that remained of human life were the ashen shadows of those too close to be at all shielded from the bomb’s radiation. “These were good people, a peaceful people. There was no reason to do this to any of them. Even their meanest man would cry at a meaningless kill.”

Calista moved again towards the body of the little girl, a pang of grief pulling at her gut. Her eyes lingered through blurred vision on the small hand clutched close with the doll. The girl’s tattered skin flaked away piece-by-piece in the strong wind.

“Don’t,” Jay said warningly.

“I want to bury her.”

“I know you do. But you have to leave her.” Jay’s voice was heavy with regret.

“Why?” she asked, eyes widening as she spun back around.

“Because if you do, and they find out, they’ll target you. And even if it weren’t for that, the radiation might kill you by the time you dug even a shallow grave. You’re too close already.” A grimace distorted his features as he tore his gaze from the tiny body. “I’m sorry,” he added. “But we really can’t. We have to keep moving.”

Even standing in the heat of the midday sun, Calista felt cold.


	12. Welcome to Hurikan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long!! I think the writing slump is over though. =]

“Damnit, you’re too good at this,” Calista said with a laugh as the man across from her played a winning card on her caravan. She felt hollow, but strangers would never know the wiser.

“Naw, you just don’t know what yer up to with it yet. You gotta learn how to play before you get good,” he said. His voice was high and nasal. It grated against Calista’s ears.

“It don’t take skill to play a game of caravan,” said the woman next to him. Her voice was soft and mellow, weighted down with alcohol but without the slur that it always gave to Calista. “It takes luck and few extra cards…” She lingered on the last word, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the man’s long sleeves.

The man’s eyebrows creased down into a frown. “Now listen here, I don’t cheat. Not at cards, not at women.”

“Do you cheat with your ammo?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. She drummed her red-painted fingernails on the table slowly.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked standing up straight and looking down at her with a glower. “Look here miss, I—”

The woman’s expression snapped to anger, eyes blazing and lips pursed as she straightened in her chair. A single, long huff of furious rage flared her nostrils, keeping her mouth tight shut. With a swift motion she dropped her cards, pulled his pistol from its holster on the table and fired a shot off into his chest. The shattering of a rub made Calista’s skin crawl as it registered in her ears before she really saw what was happening.

“Don’t call me ‘miss,’” she said, dropping the gun back on the table.

He clutched at his ribcage, agony in his broken expression and sunken eyes, looking back and forth from the table to the woman, unable to find words. His knees wavered as he struggled to stay standing.

Calista stared, jaw dropped and eyes widened, following the man’s line of site with her gaze but not daring to move a muscle. Blood pooled beneath his fingers and dripped down to the table as he fell forward onto it.

“What’d you do that for?” Calista asked breathlessly, staring at the woman but still not moving.

She shrugged. “He was a liar and a cheat, and he bought me cheap liquor. The world’s better off without him.” Her words fell like a song.

“You shot him!” Calista shouted. The rest of the bar hadn’t even noticed yet, it was so loud.

The woman laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh my dear, this is Hurikan. Here we don’t have rules that say we can’t shoot a bad man.” She threw her arms open wide. “Besides, it’s **my** bar.”

“Oh,” Calista said, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Well, I suppose you can do what you want with your… patrons.”

The woman laughed. “He’s not a patron. He stole my booze and cheated my real patrons, day in and day out. He was a bad dog and needed to be put down. My name’s Sandra, but people here call me Sandy.”

“Hi…” Calista said, trailing off. “I’m Cal.”

“Hi Cal,” Sandy said with a grin. Sandy’s voice was soft and lilting; it reminded her of the lull of Med-X. “There wasn’t anyone that was waiting for him to come home,” she said. “He didn’t do anything but come gamble away other people’s money to fuel his own habits.”  

“I see,” Calista said, trailing off. The dead man’s blood drizzled onto the floor and started to puddle near her shoes. She moved her feet away. “Does this, uh, happen a lot?”

“Not really,” Sandy said with a soft sigh, standing up. “Most of the time they come here once, make a killing at it, and get the hell outta Dodge before anyone learns who they are. They get more money that way.”

Sandy snapped her fingers high in the air and pointed at the table, looking across the room to the guards by the door. One of them stomped over, picked up the body and dragged it from the room. His boots left a black streak along the floor. Calista watched as they skittered along towards a back door.

“Oh dear, come on now,” Sandy said, taking Calista by the arm and pulling her away towards the bar. “Now don’t take me wrong; I don’t own this place in name, but it’s mine. Everyone knows it, and they’re smart not to forget it. But you’re just a sweet little girl and you wouldn’t cause no trouble, would you.”

“No,” Calista said, still staring at the black streaks along the floor even as Sandy pulled her away from the table. “No, I’m just here on my way to New Vegas.”

Sandy’s grip on her arm tightened just a little. “New Vegas? What would a sweet thing like you want with that ratty old town?”

Calista shrugged, not wanting to answer. “Just traveling. It’s just the next stop on the list, you know. Rolling from one place to the next.”

“Wherever the wind takes you,” Sandy said, dropping her head on Calista’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “How romantic. Maybe someday I’ll quit this place and see those lights again.”

“You’ve been?” Calista asked.

“Of course I have! Just about everyone ‘round here has. They come here when they’re tired of it.” She shook a long, blonde, curled strand of hair out of her face. “We’re the next big stop on the way up to Salt Lake City. A lot of people don’t leave. Men like that one,” she gestured to the body being dragged through the back door, “keep them here.”

Calista’s mind was reeling; this was too much for one day. Earlier in the evening she and Jay had wandered quietly in to the edge of town. He’d told her he needed to check in with the local branch of Happy Trails, and that she should explore a bit – maybe find a place to spend the night (and not to spend more than a few caps on it if she did). She’d never been to a real city of any sort before, ones with crumbling roads instead of gravel and concrete and metal and brick buildings instead of gecko-leather tents.

After looking at the various shops and speaking with some of the locals, a young man pointed her to a large bar, saying it was the best place she’d find for cheap food and beds. It looked dark inside, lit by only a very few lights and several spotty strands of holiday lights. The metal walls were faded and worn looking, but it was obvious that no one else was afraid the structure would give in, as the noise heard even outside it was deafening.

She’d never been to a bar before, hardly even consumed alcohol in any form. When Joshua had discovered her with Med-X a second time, he’d made it his mission to keep all things drug or alcohol away from her as much as possible. She wondered briefly if it was part of why he refused to use them for his own aching body, just psalm after psalm after psalm. It didn’t seem like they did much more than distract him from the pain, and it hadn’t worked particularly well for Calista either…

_“Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am in trouble; My eye wastes away with grief, **yes,** my soul and my body!” Joshua’s words faded in and out of her ears with her disinterest. “…my years with sighing; My strength fails because of my iniquity, And my bones waste away.”_

_“My poor bones,” Calista mocked, rolling her eyes. “Is this really necessary? I get it, I fucked up.”_

_Joshua sighed quietly, shutting the book. “You know your faults, yet you do nothing to improve yourself upon them.”_

_“I don’t want to improve myself,” Calista said, slamming her fist down on the table. “I just—”_

_“Then fall,” Joshua said, his eyes betraying his frustration. “If you insist upon it, there is little I can do. ‘My flesh and heart my fail; but God is the strength of my heart.’ You refuse any hand that reaches out to lift you up, whether it is mine, or God’s, or even your own.”_

The memory made her frown. Calista shook her head clear of it as Sandy pulled her along to the bar and sat her down.

“Vodka tonic,” Sandy said, leaning over the bar from where she sat. “And whatever she wants.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Calista started.

“Nonsense,” Sandy said with a smile, cutting her off. “I shot a man in front of you, you deserve a drink.”

Calista tossed the idea around her head before leaning a little closer to Sandy. “I mean I’ve never really drank anything before,” she said. “Never had time,” she added quickly at Sandy’s raised eyebrow.

Sandy relaxed then, and turned back to the waiting barman. “Rum and Cola for her then,” she said. He nodded and scuttled off to get the drinks. “Start you off easy then,” she said with a wink to Calista. “It’s sweet, easier to down than a lot of drinks.”

“If something’s hard to drink, then why drink it?” Calista asked with a frown.

The bluntness of the question startled Sandy, her back stiffening briefly before she relaxed with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Same reason people take chems when they don’t need to. Makes it a little easier to get by.”

Calista nodded slowly, not sure she wanted to let on that she understood that all too well.

The barman returned with their drinks. The first was clear but for the white bubbles flowing up towards the top where a thin wedge of mutfruit pressed onto the rim of the glad. Sandy knocked it into the drink with a flick of her finger before the barman even set down Calista’s drink. Her own drink was dark in color, not quite as bubbly as Sandy’s but still fizzing. She put her hand over it and felt the little explosions of the liquid splash onto her hand, leaving it sticky.

In truth, Calista had tried some alcohols before and wasn’t impressed by them. They made her head feel funny and her tongue heavy. Vodka was the worst, she remembered, eyeing Sandy’s glass wearily as the woman drank from it. Sandy’s whole frame relaxed as soon as the booze hit her tongue. Calista wondered vaguely if she would look as beautiful, as chic when drinking as Sandy did.

She wrapped her fingers around the glass, brushing her thumb over the embossed “Nuka-Cola” – each rise and dip of the glass felt like a goosebump in her own flesh. As she raised the glass towards her lips she remembered seeing men and women in the bar sniffing their drinks before tasting them. She mimicked the movement, but the bubbles tickled her nose and she pulled the glass away again.

Sandy laughed softly beside her, but not unkindly Calista decided. Her cheeks turned red, realizing she must look like a baby playing with a new kind of toy, and she wiped the bottom of her nose with her other hand. With a new determination, she lifted the glass again and let the drink flood her mouth.

She sputtered, eyes widening as she remembered too late that alcohol shouldn’t be drank in great gulps like water. The sticky, sweet flavor was spicy and felt like fire. The heat lingered in her throat and mouth even after she forced herself to swallow it.

Sandy laughed again, grinning, and gently clapped a hand on Calista’s shoulder. “Don’t outdo yourself. What do you think?” she asked, the friendly laugh still in her tone.

“It’s…” Calista eyed the glass with a little more respect, “spicy. But sweet. Very sweet, like fresh fruit. But more like… like fresh fruit that’s on fire.” She was sure she would have turned red again, realizing how silly her comment sounded, but the alcohol had left her skin flushed anyway.

The grin on Sandy’s face widened before the woman took a sip of her own drink. “That’s exactly what I thought, first time I had that,” she said sweetly. Calista wasn’t sure she believed the woman, but it was at least kind of her to say.

“So where are you from?” Sandy asked, her tone smooth and casual.

Calista had to work not to choke; she hadn’t thought of how to answer that question, though now she realized that it was inevitable she would be asked by anyone she held a real conversation with. “Nowhere special,” she said, not looking at Sandy.

Sandy laughed. “It’s fine, you don’t have to answer. I know it’s difficult, being on the border of Legion territory. I probably wouldn’t answer if I was heading into the thick of it either.” She took a long drink of her vodka tonic, savoring it in her mouth before she swallowed. “I come from Shady Sands, all the way out in the NCR.”

“Oh?” Calista asked, hoping the subject wouldn’t shift back to herself. “What’s it like out there?”

“Well,” Sandy said with a soft sigh, glancing upwards as though the memory would present itself above her. “Biggest city in the whole NCR. Probably the biggest city in the whole damn world. There’s thousands of people there, not just a few hundred like there are here. Thousands of people in thousands of adobe houses, none of these ruins or pre-war buildings. And miles and miles of farmlands,” she said, looking over to Calista with a grin. “No need for gecko meat either. You can have a juicy brahmin steak whenever you want one.”

Calista took a sip of her drink so she wouldn’t have to respond. It sounded terrifying to live with so many people. _How would you find any privacy? Where could you go to be alone with so many people around?_

“Truth be told, I haven’t been there since I was a little girl. Maybe it seemed so big because I was so small…” Sandy dropped her eyes back down to the bar and her drink. She gazed at it for a moment, then straightened back up, picking up the glass. “But that was years ago. I’m nearly thirty now and I haven’t seen that place since I was eight.”

Calista looked down into the few meagre bubbles of her drink, watching them slowly zigzag in little tracks to the surface before they burst with a satisfying little fizz. “Have you ever thought about going back?”

Sandy threw her head back in a deep, bitter laugh. “Of course,” she said, turning back to face her again. “I think about it all the time. My father and I were on our way there when the Second Battle for Hoover Dam broke out; it was so sudden. He was a soldier for the NCR, you see, and he’d managed to retire and we were heading back home. But when the battle broke out he went back to fight. Gave me all our things and put me on a caravan North to keep me away from the fighting. He told me to wait here for him, here in Hurikan. Course, he never came.”

“I’m sorry,” Calista said, wishing she hadn’t asked. “I know what it’s like, growing up without a father. I was…” she trailed off, fishing for a good answer, “raised by one of my father’s friends. I never knew him. He brought me North, too, before that battle happened, when I was a baby. I’m on a journey South now to see if… if I can find out what happened to him.” It wasn’t a lie.

Sandy nodded, staring into her own drink. “Soldier?”

“Yeah,” Calista said quietly, hoping she wouldn’t ask what side he was on.

Sandy drained her drink. “You know, honey? I like you. How long are you in town for?”

“I’m not really sure,” Calista said. She took a sip of her drink, enjoying it more and more with each taste. “I came here with a caravan, but things aren’t exactly going well.” She thought of Jay and the sick brahmin, wondering where he was. It must have been hours since she’d seen him.

“Someone giving you grief?” Sandy asked, her tone darkening.

“Oh no,” Calista said quickly, not wanting to give a bad impression of Jay, especially not to this woman. “Sick brahmin. It’s probably going to die soon, but the merchant is really attached to this one. He’s had her forever.”

Sandy relaxed, her shoulders going back down and her chin tilting up slightly. “New Vegas you say?”

Calista nodded uncertainly.

“Tell you what. I think it’s time I got out of this wretched little place again for a while. Maybe try to work my way back to Shady Sands and have a real life again.” Sandy dropped a handful of caps onto the bar, spinning around on her stool to face away from it. “If your caravan doesn’t work out, come find me in the daylight. I live right across the street, on the second floor. I’ll take you to New Vegas; I remember the way.”

With that, Sandy stood and waded through the crowd towards the door. Calista didn’t see her leave; she was speechless. She took another long drink, still trying to take in what Sandy had said.

“Ma’am?” came an older man’s voice from behind the bar.

Calista looked up at the tired eyes of the barman. “Yes?” she asked uncertainly.

The man glanced around, then leaned over the bar towards her. His voice was so quiet she could barely hear him when he spoke. “You be careful with Sandy. She’s a dangerous woman. Snaps a lot. Too much. If you two is gonna travel together? Don’t upset her. Don’t get on her bad side. Most don’t live to make it back to the good one.”

Calista nodded slowly, and the barman stood back up straight again, drying a glass with a rag.

“You’ll be havin’ another?” he asked, louder this time.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t really drink. It’s good, but I think one is enough for me.”

The barman nodded, setting the glass down. “You here with Jay then?”

Calista looked up in alarm, her heart pounding. How did he know?

“Jay’s the only one due today. Fact, he’s not due til ‘morrow.” He leaned on the bar with one elbow, looking around the crowded room.

“We ran into some trouble,” Calista said uneasily.

He raised an eyebrow. “Trouble usually means it takes _longer_ get where you’re goin’.”

“Bullfrog Bay was attacked,” Calista said, shuddering at the memory. “Just before we got there. We went around instead of stopping.”

“Attacked?” the barman said, eyes widening. “What you mean?”

Calista closed her eyes and took a long gulp of her drink, suddenly understanding why people enjoyed the sticky fire of it so much. “Everything’s gone. Completely wiped out. Someone nuked it.”

The people around Calista grew suddenly quiet.

“You sure you know what you’s talking ‘bout?” the barman asked, his eyes still wide and his voice wavering. He gripped the bar for support.

“I wish I didn’t,” she said slowly. “One big nuke in the center, a whole lot of smaller bombs that went off throughout. It doesn’t make any sense. And there was no one there; we didn’t see any attackers. No army, nothing. Just… death, and stillness. We saw the mushroom cloud the day before we got there, heard the explosion. It was supposed to be our next stop.”

“That ain’t possible,” the barman said with a frown. “How’s a city explode with no one to do it?”

The chatter picked up around her again as she shook her head. “I don’t know. I wish I was lying too. But I’m not. It’s gone.” She emptied her glass down her throat with a final swig. “Thanks for the drink. It was good. Do you have any empty rooms for the night?”

The barman nodded, taking her glass.

“How much?” she asked, but he dropped a key on the bar in front of her as she stood.

“Take it. News like that? Worth good money,” he said quietly. “Something I need to know, even if I’s don’t like it. Upstairs. Room number’s on the key.”

Calista nodded her thanks and pushed through the crowd towards the stairs. It didn’t part as easily for her as it had for Sandy.

 

Calista hadn’t been in her room long when she saw Jay walking past on the street below her window. She rapped sharply on the glass several times, waving her other hand to get Jay’s attention. Though it was dark out, there was enough light in the room that he saw her and nodded, then headed into the building. She stepped out into the hall to wait.

The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made out of scrap sheets of metal; all different colors and states of wear, with none discriminated. Some places had small holes, both by intent and by rust, where the bar below could be seen. If it weren’t for the pinpricks of light shining through though, they would be invisible through all the dirt and grit.

“I see you found the watering hole,” Jay said with a grin. “Hear any good stories?”

“Not really,” Calista said, trying not to remember her evening. The image of long, black scuff marks trailing out a door lingered in her mind unbidden anyway. “Why were you gone so long?”

Jay sighed, stepping into the room after her and shutting the door. “Well, somebody had to explain Bullfrog Bay to the Company. When I said it was nuked, they called in the boss. When I said I thought it was Orabora, they wired the company head back in the NCR and the Legion branch outside of New Vegas.”

Calista nodded, her hand tangling in her hair. Her braid finally came undone and she searched through her pack for a comb. The Bay wasn’t something she particularly wanted to remember either.

“There’s gonna be a lot of talk ‘bout this all,” he said, sitting down. He dropped his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. “Orabora have never been seen this far North. Not that they’ve really ever been seen anyway.”

“There has to be someone alive that’s seen them,” Calista argued. “It doesn’t make any sense. How else would they be so widely known about?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Jay said. He shook his head. “I don’t rightly know.”

There was a strained silence between them as they both thought about the implications of Orabora in the North. The fact that they had apparently moved with ease through Legion territory as a full enough force to execute the attack did not go unnoticed even by Calista. She brushed her hair down over her shoulder, wondering how they could have done it. Perhaps they came North in small groups, one after another, or maybe even passed themselves off as a caravan. Maybe they were just normal enough people that they didn’t stand out as dangerous.

Each of her theories became wilder than the next. A group of children roaming the wastes, wreaking vengeance against the all the grown-ups in the world. A pack of Nightkin wandering invisible ever Northward. An entire village worth of men and women obsessed with explosives for no reason other than _because they’re there and they go “boom.”_

“So when are we leaving?” Calista asked. It almost hurt to tear her eyes from the wild ideas in her mind’s eye, knowing that they were probably just regular, everyday people.

Jay grimaced a through he’d been slapped, his eyes scrunching shut. “ _We_ ain’t leavin’. I can’t go anywhere with Clarabelle so tired, and I won’t just leave her behind either. Figure she’s only got a few months left in her now. Take a little vacation with her, here, for a while…” Jay said, his voice trailing away to somewhere that was surely greener.

“I’m sorry,” Calista said, realizing that this was the second time in the night she’d found herself apologizing for things beyond her control. “So… you’re staying here? In Hurikan?”

“Yep,” Jay said, standing up.

Calista, shocked, stood too.

“And I’ve already worked out a small apartment for myself,” he said with a weak smile. “I’m sure you can find someone that’s headin’ down to New Vegas, though Joshua’d skin me alive if he knew I was lettin’ you go.”

An idea burst into Calista’s mind. “If I write a letter for Joshua, will you make sure that the next caravan going that way takes it to him?” she asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she even realized it. “Please?” she added hastily.

Jay laughed, really smiling for the first time in days. It reminded her how much her view of the man had changed so quickly. Until the day of the explosion in the Bay, she was sure that there was nothing that would falter his smile.

“Sure thing,” he said, still grinning. “You sound like you’re already plannin’ on leavin’ though. Got somethin’ worked out before I even come back?” He waggled an eyebrow at her, but his held grin told her he wasn’t really hurt.

“An opportunity sort of fell into my hand,” she said, considering Sandy’s offer. It seemed like she could take care of herself, and if she knew the way…

“Just be careful. There are some crazy ones around town that—”

“Sandy. Sandy offered to take me to New Vegas.”

Jay’s eyebrows disappeared into his fairly receded hairline. “You sure you wanna mess with Sandy? She’s not known for… _stability_ in her emotions.”

“I know,” Calista said, nodding. “I could tell. But it’s a chance I’ve got to take. Besides. It’s a free trip.” She grinned, trying to perk up.

Jay laughed again. “I wouldn’t go callin’ it free. She’ll probably make you do everythin’ but carry her. But she can get you there, that’s for sure. Now you write your letter; there might be a runner goin’ through soon, now they know about the Bay.” He sat down on the edge of the bed to wait.

Calista shivered, but moved to the small desk and fished around in it for blank paper and something to write with. She didn’t write very often, but there was so much that had happened that she wanted to tell Joshua. Her smile fell away from her eyes as she thought about him.

This trip had been harder on her than she’d imagined it could be. Even if there hadn’t been the Orabora attack, the extremes had left her exhausted. Joy that she was finally leaving, had finally left, Zion to see what the world was really like. Horror that an entire settlement had been wiped out before she could even reach it. Panic at being so suddenly surrounded by hundreds of people, all strangers. Curiosity, disgust, confusion.

She thought over ideas of what to write about, reaching out for anything other than the attack. Her first Rum and Nuka? Calista grinned, knowing the exact way he would shake his head if she told him. No, that would go in a letter to Falling-Waters. With a pang she realized that she’d missed her terribly too.

With a quiet, half-stifled laugh, Calista wondered how Joshua was dealing with Falling-Waters and Singing-Bird taking care of him instead of her. He may have tried to get away with doing everything himself, but she knew the two women would swoop in on him like nightstalkers. She counted back the days, trying to remember how long she had been gone. It seemed like it had been so long.

“Two weeks?” she muttered to herself. “That’s it?” It didn’t seem like it could be right, so much had happened. That meant he was due for new bandages, whether he liked it or not. Calista bit back a laugh. He was probably _very_ moody now.

Unable to hold back her laughter, she knew just what to write: “ _Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” Have you let them help with your bandages yet?_


	13. One for Me and None for You

Calista banged her fist on the flimsy, metal door; it bent inward with each knock, clanging back against the frame loud enough to make her head spin. A groan floated through the door.

“Sandy? Are you in there?” Calista asked, pressing the door in slightly so that her voice could creep around it.

No response came. She knocked again, louder this time.

Another groan, this one more annoyed than the last. “What is it?” Sandy asked. Her voice was muffled and hard to hear.

“It’s Cal.” Calista pressed her ear to the door, but didn’t hear anything moving inside. She waited, arms crossed against her chest. The unfamiliar feel of metal buildings made her uneasy, even though she knew how quickly she could get escape. One flight of stairs and she could be out the front door with the sand between her toes.

“Can I come in?” Calista asked, hesitating. She didn’t want to linger. It had been hard enough for her to sleep at all in her room over the bar, and it hadn’t been because of the drunks. The groaning of the building itself kept her eyes wide open all night.

“Sandy?” Calista called again. She took a deep breath and tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Sandy if you don’t open this door yourself I’m going to break it open for you.”

After a few quiet scuffling noises and a grumbled “yeah, yeah,” the door cracked open an inch. With a deep breath, Calista pushed through, her fingers splayed across the door as she moved away from the lifeline of the stairway.

The sight that met her was not anything she’d expected. Empty bottles littered the floor, scattered amongst faded playing cards and poker chips. A half-eaten box of Fancy Lad’s lay open on the table, flies circling above it. The air was grey with smoke, and hardly any light filtered in through the two windows along the side of the room. A single, unprotected light bulb hung from a cable high along the ceiling. It connected to a switch on the wall next to the door, where Calista stood staring.

Sandy shuffled back into the apartment, her feet dragging. A corner of the blanket around her shoulders swept along the floor beside her, dragging with it a crumpled bag of chips. Her hair was frazzled and a half-masted ponytail hung limply to one side.

“What happened here?” Calista asked.

“If I remember, I’ll let you know,” Sandy muttered, dropping back to the worn couch with a thud. “I thought I told you to find me in the daylight.” Her voice was tinged with annoyance and heavy with sleep.

“This _is_ the daylight,” Calista said, scowling. “It’s well past midday.”

“Oh.” Sandy pulled the tie out of her hair. “So. Caravan is no-go?”

“Yeah. It’s staying here, maybe even retiring. Dunno.” Calista’s eyes flitted from one thing to the next: the refrigerator hanging open, the table littered with crumbs and bottles and cards, a filthy ashtray upturned onto an even filthier rug.

“Oh,” Sandy said again, running a hand through her hair. It fell in oily ropes around her face. “Guess that means you wanna go to Vegas with me?”

“If you’re still offering,” Calista said, turning back to Sandy. “Maybe… I should come back later?” she asked slowly, taking in Sandy’s disheveled appearance and wondering what had happened to the smooth, attractive woman of the night before.

“No, no. You’re here now, I just need some coffee,” Sandy said. She shook her head vigorously. “A lot of coffee.” Her voice sounded clearer.

Calista stared, dubiously. She had only had coffee once in her life, and it had not been a pleasant experience. It had been before dawn and she needed to wake up quickly before joining on a hunt, and Joshua had allowed her to try some of the bitter drink from his own mug. The flavor had stayed in her mouth for hours, no matter what she did to try to remove it. On the other hand, Calista remembered, it had definitely woken her up – and kept her that way.

“Give me about… an hour. Then I’ll be ready to go,” Sandy said. She glanced all around the room, eyes squinting as though the room was still too bright even with only one meager light source flooding the stagnant air.

“Are you sure?” Calista asked. “I can wait. You look like—”

“I know what I look like,” Sandy snapped, but her face quickly turned back to calm. “I’ve had hangovers before. Let me sort it out and then we’ll get going. I’m sick of this town,” she said, her voice fading. “I need something new. I can’t just live here waiting for daddy to come back for the rest of my life. He’s gone, no prince is coming to my rescue, and I need to get on with my own life.”

“But what about your bar? I know it isn’t _yours_ but—”

“They’ll get on fine without me. Maybe better. I know what kind of trouble I cause. But this town took care of me and I needed to do it a turn as well.” Her voice was slowly regaining the silky tone from the night before as she woke up.

Calista stared at her, not entirely sure what to say. “Are you sure you’re all right? You seem a bit worse for wear.”

“So I had a few drinks, a few laughs, a little fun…” Her tone softened as she ran her hands across her scalp. “I’m fine… now be a dear and go get me some coffee. There’s a mug on the table,” she said, gesturing vaguely towards the middle of the room. “Take it across the street to the bar and they’ll fill it up for you. There should be some caps with it too.”

Calista’s brow furrowed. Wordlessly she picked up the mug and stuffed the caps in her pocket. It seemed impossible that Sandy would be able to pack up and make her apartment ready for her to leave – possibly for good – in just an hour’s time, but the metal walls crushing in on her from all sides meant Calista wouldn’t stick around to argue. It felt like the pile of scrap would collapse at any moment; she could barely breathe.

She was out the door and taking the stairs three at a time before Sandy could say another word.

The dusty street outside filled with bits of grit and broken pavement felt like heaven as Calista breathed in again. The air was sticky and hot without a breeze, but that didn’t matter. Seeing the door of the bar waiting open sent a shiver down her neck and into her toes. Sandy could wait a moment, right?

If Sandy could wait, that meant Calista had to wait too, though, and she wasn’t willing to give up the daylight.

Calista marched resolutely into the dim interior of the bar. Without the constant buzz of patrons shouting over each other, she could hear the generators running the many strands of lights along the ceiling. It somehow felt too big with only the barman and a young girl sweeping out dirt and trash from the night before.

“Sandy said you had coffee?” Calista asked hesitantly at the bar. The tired barman only nodded, gesturing for her to hand him the mug. She did, then dug into her pocket for the caps as he filled the mug with steaming black coffee.

He handed her the cup and scooped five caps from the bar into a bucket on the counter behind him. They clattered onto a mountain of their brethren.

“Do you really make that much in one night?” she asked, astonished.

“No.” He sounded like he hadn’t slept in a month. “Most goes back into buying more booze. Not much profit to be had, if you want people coming back regularly.” The man shrugged and went back to wiping down the bar with a damp rag. “It’s a living. So long as I’s staying cheaper than Rick’s down the street, I’s making good money.”

Calista shook her head, wondering how anyone could go through so much alcohol at once that he would need to spend so much.

“Is that another bar?” she asked, picking up the mug. It nearly burned her fingers to touch the sides, but the handle was still cool enough to touch.

The barman nodded. “Yep. Only the real yuppies that made it outta New Vegas with caps in their pockets go there. Not many of em, but he’s got slot machines over there that draw them folk in. They see those lights and can’t resist.” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Don’t reckon I want them folk in here no how. Always causin’ a ruckus.”

“A ruckus?” came Sandy’s voice from the door. “Why Andy, if that’s a ruckus then I must be a regular old whirlwind.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up so quickly,” Calista said sheepishly, handing over the cup of coffee for her. “Sorry.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you worry. I just can’t resist the smell of fresh coffee in the morning. It comes right in my windows, you see. Brings me here every darn day,” Sandy said cheerfully. Her wild mane of hair was tame and sleek, pulled back into bun, and there was no trace of the dark circles that had been under her eyes just minutes earlier.

The barman, Andy, grinned, revealing several missing teeth. “I make it special, just the way you like it,” he said with a wink.

Sandy leaned over and whispered behind her hand to Calista. “I knew this fella from up in New Reno that said he made the best coffee in the whole damn world. He stopped in here for a night on his way down to New Vegas for some big old poker tournament. Got tanked on whiskey here and spent the whole morning begging for coffee.

“So Andy, here, keeps pouring and pouring, but the guy says it just ain’t doing him. So he pulls out this needle full of psycho and squirts in a few drops. I thought he was downright crazy, but it perked him right back up like nothin’ had happened.”

Calista stared at the cup. “So that’s—”

“Well naturally I had to try it. Two little drops won’t hurt anybody, and it’s not enough to make you want more.” She wore an innocent expression that Calista wasn’t sure she believed. “It’s like no other thing in the whole wide world, I’m sure.” She dropped her hand and straightened, talking louder again. “But Andy only makes _mine_ special. If you ordered yourself a mug it’d only be coffee. Right Andy, darling?”

Andy nodded vigorously, staring at a spot on the bar that wouldn’t scrub clean. “Yep, just for you’s. Don’t tolerate no drugs in here.”

“That’s right,” Sandy said with a soft smile. “We don’t need that kind of filth in our town.”

Andy just kept nodding as he made his way down the bar away from them.

Calista felt her face growing hotter. Filth? No, she had a reason. Like Sandy. It was different for her.

“Are you all right dear?” Sandy said, looking worried. She laid a hand on Calista’s shoulder. “You look red as a pepper.”

“Fine, just hot. There’s no air in here,” she said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Even with the room so empty it shrunk in towards her more and more with every second.

“Goodness that won’t be good for traveling.” Sandy took a long swig of her coffee. “Be sure you bring a good supply of water. It’s not too far down the road to the next town. I’m sure we’ll be there by tomorrow evening.” She downed the last of her coffee and set the mug back on the bar and turned to face Andy.

“Now Andy, you’re not going to let any old Jane try to take my place while I’m gone, are you?”

“No, sir,” he said, his eyebrows creeping higher and higher. “No way no how.”

“That’s right,” she said with a bright smile. “Now you take care. And I want you to ditch the rest of that nasty chem. I’ll be gone for quite a while and I don’t want that getting into the wrong hands. We’ll get some fresh when I come back.”

“Course,” he said, springing into action. He pulled the chem from underneath the counter and brought it over to the sink. Pressing the plunger down, he squirted the blue-grey liquid down the drain. He rinsed it down with the dirty water he’d been using to wipe down the bar. The empty container was placed in a briefcase on top of a refrigerator at the back of the room.

“Good.” Sandy stood straighter and picked up her mug. “Well Cal, my bag’s packed and I’m ready to go whenever you are.” She walked back towards the door. “Goodbye Andy!”

Calista scrambled after her. “You’re ready? You were hardly even awake just a little while ago.”

“Not much to pack,” Sandy said with a laugh. “Some clothes, caps, a few essentials. I don’t tend to collect things like so many people do. The things I need I can buy anywhere. Now go pick up your things, dear.”

Calista turned back to the barman just as she reached the door. “Do you know where I might find Jay?” she asked him. “I ought to say goodbye and thank him for his help.”

“Heard someone say he’s got a new place down by the Happy Trails building,” Andy said, scratching the back of his head. “Down the road on the right there. You’ll see the place. Ask them.”

Easier said than done. Sandy was able to give her more useful directions, but didn’t want to follow her down to the caravan office. Something about the an argument three summers back with the manager; the only part that was really clear was that he’d left the staff with a standing order to shoot on site if Sandy got within 25 yards of the place. She wasn’t sure they’d act on it, but apparently she wasn’t taking any chances this time.

Calista could see why they’d argued. The staff at the office were useless.

“Company policy dictates that we do not divulge information such as employee addresses,” the clerk parroted for the second time, “to anyone that isn’t a direct family member, employee, or traveling companion.”

“But I _was_ his employee!” Calista half-shouted. She had to work hard not to pull her hair out. “I was working as a caravan guard for him!”

“The man of which you speak is currently on extended leave, meaning that you cannot possibly be a current employee of his,” the woman said, leaning back in her chair. It groaned and something in it clicked, but she seemed unconcerned. She picked at her nails, apparently giving up on getting anywhere with the conversation. “I’m sorry but you’ll just have to—”

“No point in hollerin’ at these folk, Cal. They’re solid as bunker walls.”

Calista turned around to see Jay standing in the doorframe at the front of the building. “Thank God,” she muttered to herself before jogging over to him.

“I figured you’d be outta here by now?” Jay prodded. There was a metal box under his arm. The lid, slightly askew, revealed several bits of scrap metal.

“I had to say goodbye before we hit the road. And besides,” Calista glanced back at the clerk, who had moved on to some typing. Deciding not to chance it herself, she pushed past Jay and out the door and lowered her voice. “Sandy, isn’t exactly the type to get an early start on things, apparently.” She shook her head; she’d planned to leave not long after dawn.

Jay just laughed. “True that, true that.” He heaved a soft sigh and glanced down the road. If Calista squinted, she could make out what must have been Sandy at the far end. “Now you take care of yourself out there,” he said putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a wild wasteland, and Joshua would never forgive me if ya went off on your own and somethin’ bad happened to ya.”

Cal grinned and clapped him on the shoulder as well. “I’ll be fine,” she said, leaning in toward him. “It’s _Sandy_ that doesn’t seem to be able to function without her morning dose of chems. As long as I hide her Vodka, I think we’ll do all right.”


	14. Sandpaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road again, and someone's proving rather grating for the nerves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are new, welcome. I post infrequently. Sorry. I'm trying, I promise. This story should be picking up again now.
> 
> For those of you who are returning, thank you. Your continued support both amazes and encourages me!
> 
> It's sort of obscene how long it took to get this chapter written, and I'm not happy with it at all - but I need to just move the hell on and keep going. So here you go. All the important parts are there. The voices are slack, the writing is eh. But it's better than nothing! Constructive criticism always appreciated!

When the sun was just barely clinging to the tips of the distant mountains, the pair stopped to make camp in a small cave. Jay had been right; Sandy _did_ make Calista do everything but carry her. Whether it was something as easy as carrying something out of her pack or taking down a gecko along the way, it was suddenly her job to do any and everything Sandy could think of.

“Think of it as payment,” Sandy had said with a jovial smile. “Can’t expect everything in life to be free now, can you?”

For the most part, Calista had borne it well. After all, she’d started this journey as a ‘caravan guard.’ It only made sense for her to continue it as such. She’d just hoped not to have to do all the work.

At the back of her mind, over and over, the barman’s – Andy’s – voice kept playing over and over: _You be careful with Sandy. She’s a dangerous woman. Snaps a lot. Too much. If you two is gonna travel together? Don’t upset her. Don’t get on her bad side. Most don’t live to make it back to the good one._ For the most part, it seemed easy enough to stay on her good side. As long as you didn’t do anything too deviant, she was happy. Be a good person, she’s happy. Shoot the geckos before she sees them, she’s happy.

If there was one thing that was easy for her to do, it was keeping Sandy happy.

“So spill a bit about this trip you’ve been on.”

That is, it was easy to keep her happy until Calista had to speak.

Calista shifted uneasily, still stacking the kindling for the fire. “Well, you know I came in to Hurikan with Jay, the Happy Trails guy. We met up a ways up along the Colorado. Joined on with him as a caravan guard for company.”

“What’s it like up that way?” Sandy asked. “It’s been a long time since I left Hurikan.”

Carefully, Calista struck a match and breathed the tiny fire to life, giving herself time to think up an answer. The easiest thing would be to not lie at all, if possible. _You always bite your lip when you lie._ She pushed away the memory, one that often left a bitter-sweet taste in her mouth, but his voice lingered anyway.

“The canyon is beautiful,” she started slowly, setting down bits of green wood on the fire. They crackled and spat at her, too far fresh to make for a good fire but better than no fire at all. “Have you ever been?”

Sandy shook her head ‘no’ and settled in against her bag, crossing her legs at the knee. Apparently, Calista was also in charge of dinner.

“They say it’s like no other place,” Calista said, taking out the old, beat-up frying pan and the wire grate from her pack. She stacked the two on the fire, then pulled her knife out from her belt and methodically began butchering the gecko she’d shot earlier in the day. It was more than they’d need by far, but at least some could be salted and sold at the next town.

Sandy wrinkled her nose as she watched Calista work, but said nothing.

“Never butchered before?” Calista asked with a grin, peeling away the silver skin from the good meat beneath. She wondered how Sandy might do with field dressing.

“Never had need,” Sandy said, shrugging. “In Hurikan I always got my meals after they were cooked, and before that I figure my daddy did all that work,” she waved her hand in the direction of the gecko, then looked away. “So, the canyon?”

Calista shook her head, still grinning. _At least one of us knows how to survive._ It struck her then that maybe Sandy really _didn’t_ know how to survive on her own, outside of a big city or a village. The idea made her grin fade. It wasn’t funny for someone not to know how to take care of themselves.

“Butchering isn’t so hard, I could teach you sometime. But the canyon… It’s a beautiful place. The red of the stone glows gold when the light hits it just right, and the water is so blue it hurts your eyes in the middle of the day.”

“It gets bright here too,” Sandy said, nodding, but Calista didn’t think she fully appreciated just how blinding it could be.

“Should I cook loin, rib, or thigh?”

“Loin,” Sandy said quietly, still watching. Her eyes was transfixed, both disgusted and unable to look away.

Calista sliced two steaks off and set them in the pan, bringing forth an array of spitting and crackling sounds that made her mouth begin to water.

“The way the stones are set in some places… It’s hard even to describe them.” Calista slowly cut away bits of fat, taking care not to include any parts of the meat, dropping them into an empty jar as she spoke. “Some of the rocks look like they were dropped by giants and forgotten there. Someone told me once that… oh what did he say…”

Calista paused, her hands frozen over her work, and thought back, trying to remember what the trader had said once when Joshua had been explaining scripture again. “I think it was ‘if there were a place that could convince me there were a god, this would be it. But then I would also know that even gods leave their projects unfinished and abandoned,’ or something like that.”

“Sounds like choice real estate,” Sandy said, watching the fire. “Anything that'd make someone in this wretched little world believe in God is worth lookin at, at least once. Maybe I’ll wander that way too someday. Maybe not. We’ll see.”

“It’s hard traveling.” Calista resumed cutting away the fat and storing it. “Some parts you have to walk along in the shallow edge of the river because there’s nothing next to it to stand on. Other parts you have to climb up just to get around, and it’s a twisty path. The caravans have done a good job of making paths for the most part though. They need to, for the brahmin.”

Sandy’s gaze tickled the hair on the back of Calista’s neck, but she kept working.

“Why are you keeping the fat?” she asked, watching Calista slice through a thick piece from the gecko’s midsection.

“What?” Calista shook her head, confused at the sudden topic change.

“Why are you keeping the fat?” Sandy repeated, slower this time. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Oh! I was hoping I could sell it. You can use it to cook or to make soap or lotions, it’s good for keeping your leather supple, all sorts of things.” She pressed the thick, white fat down in the jar, forcing out any air bubbles. “As long as I don’t mix any meat in with it and I get most of the air out of the jar, it’ll keep fine for a while.”

“Just as long as I don’t have to carry it,” Sandy said, her tone flippant.

Calista couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Where did you learn all these things, anyway?” Sandy pushed, raising an eyebrow. "You're no dumb Dora; seems you know how to do just about anything.

“Growing up. It’s easiest to survive if you know how to make everything you need,” Calista said, trying to keep her tone as casual as possible. “The man who raised me tried to teach me just a little bit of everything.”

“Sounds like a good old man.”

“You’ve never really had to do much for yourself, have you?” Calista asked. She didn’t look at the woman, just kept slicing meat and fat and putting them into the right piles, but could feel the woman watching her.

Sandy stayed quiet for a moment, long enough that Calista wasn’t sure she’d get an answer. The jar of fat was nearly full. Calista reached out and carefully used her knife as a spatula to flip the meat sizzling in the pan. The first side wasn’t quite seared to her liking, _probably the damn greenwood not heating enough_ , but it would do.

“'Fraid not. I haven’t really had that problem before.” Sandy kept her tone light enough, but Calista knew she was treading down a dangerous road. “There’s always been other folk to do things I wasn't interested in handling myself. 'Course I do take care of  _some_ things on my own, but you know that already.”

Calista shivered, remembering the woman blowing a hole in the gut of the man they’d been playing cards with only moments earlier. The fact that it had only been the previous night made her wonder if she’d made the right decision to travel with Sandy. If maybe it was a choice she shouldn’t have made so quickly. The barman had warned her. Jay had warned her. She’d seen her temper in action.

“Well, there’s always time to learn,” Calista said, in what she hoped was a cheery voice. “If you cut the fat down into small little cubes and heat it up slowly, you can cook it down into tallow.” She pressed on, not really caring now if Sandy wanted to know or not, just hoping that it would sound like she was just trying to be helpful. “Tallow doesn’t go rancid very quickly, so you can use it to preserve foods. You can make candles out of it too, or oil machines, or just about anything really. But it makes the best soap! Well, no, that’s not true. Yucca root makes the best soap, but of course that means killing off the plant, and it doesn’t give you very much soap in the end even though it takes so much work to make, and–”

“Cal!”

“What?” Her breath came in short pants, which she slowed in favor of not breathing at all.

“You’re you're a real doll.”

“Oh.” Her breathing evened out again.

“So… you can make all that?” Sandy asked. Her voice was quiet, but the tone was genuine. She leaned forward on her knees, watching Calista’s hands closely.

Calista’s heart put itself back into her chest again, leaving her stomach alone to do what it would. “Some of it, but not all,” she admitted, smiling again. “Soap is the easiest, but it works best if you have another oil to mix it with. Those are hard to come by. Tallow is easy, oils are hard. You can use tallow by itself for–”

Sandy’s hand flew to her gun. Barely able to keep herself from screaming, Calista almost dropped the knife, but Sandy wasn’t aiming at her. She turned her head, looking out into the desert, her eyes catching on a pair of eyes reflecting the fire.

“Wait!” Cal shouted, reaching for Sandy’s gun. “Don’t shoot! It’s just a little girl!”

“In the hell is a little rag-a-muffin girl doing out here alone?” Sandy growled, still holding the gun level with the girl’s head.

“How should I know, maybe her parents left her somewhere or maybe they died, maybe she’s just lost, but for fuck’s sake don’t shoot her.” Calista lowered her knife. Her eye caught on the steaks in the pan, wondering if they would burn. She handed the knife to Sandy. “Here, slide this under the meat in the pan and flip it over. Then count to 15 and do it again. Keep doing that until I take it back.” If anything, it would keep the woman’s hands busy.

Sandy pursed her lips, but the child didn’t seem like much of a threat. Slowly, she lowered her gun, nodding, and took the knife. “Could be a set up, you know.”

“Not like there’s anywhere to hide around here,” Calista said, standing up. The girl took a small step backward. “No, no it’s ok!” Calista tried to keep her voice gentle, but her heart was running a mile a minute. “Come here, we have food. I’ll give you some.”

“Giving away our food now?” Sandy asked, suddenly more invested in it now that she was cooking it.

It took a concentrated effort not to call her an idiot. “What are we going to do with all that gecko anyway? I don’t have enough salt to make all of it last.” She turned back to the girl, holding out a hand. “Come here, what’s your name?”

The girl hesitated again. A teddy bear hung by its arm from her hand, dirty from being dragged along the ground. As she kept looking, Calista realized the girl was just as filthy, if not more so. Her clothes were torn, ash coated her skin in streaks, and blood had run down a gash in her arm and dried in crusty, brown trails.

“What happened to you?” Calista asked more quietly.

Nothing about the girl’s movements or her blank expression suggested she even knew what Calista was saying. Still, she took a few shaky steps forward.

“That’s it, come on.” She still held out her hand, hoping the girl would either take it or sit down near her. “Let’s get you some food. Come here?” Without turning her head, Calista added to Sandy, “drop those on a plate, they should be done. She can have mine to start with. I’ll make more.”

Calista made a mental checklist of things in her bag as the girl approached, running through all the options on what they could do with her. She had healing powder, and that arm needed a look. If it had been open and bleeding for a while, there was no telling what sorts of infection might be brewing. It would need to be cleaned, quickly and carefully, before she could even be certain what might be going on in it.

As her eyes flicked back and forth between Sandy and Calista, the girl inched forward. Her short, shuffling steps kicked up tiny clouds of sand, adding to the dirt on her skin. The fact that Sandy had held a gun level on her moments earlier obviously hadn’t escaped her, as she moved towards Calista but her gaze kept flicking back to Sandy. The woman rolled her eyes and turned back to the fire, lifting one of the steaks onto a tin plate. The second slipped off the knife and landed in the pan with a hiss. The girl jumped, eyes widening even more.

“Come on,” Calista prodded, still patiently holding out her hand. “That’s it. Come sit down. It’s all right.” The question of what they would do with the girl flickered in her mind, but she pushed it away. What mattered for now was getting her cleaned and fed.

The girl didn’t stop watching them as she settled to the ground in front of them, squatting carefully with one leg ready to spring. It would be easy for her to simply turn and sprint away if she felt threatened – one of the stances Calista had learned first when learning to hunt.

Calista kept her movements slow as she reached for a plate cut one of the slabs of meat into small pieces. “Can you tell me your name?”

The girl said nothing, didn’t even blink.

Sighing, Calista kept cutting the meat into easily handled pieces. She didn’t feel comfortable giving the girl a knife to do it herself, and the meat was still too hot to treat as finger food. Refocusing, she tried another tactic, wanting to know if the girl even knew what they were saying. If she _was_ from the Bay, she would have been exposed to traders all her life, and so would likely know the non-tribal language. “How old are you?” she asked, looking up. “Do you know how to count on your fingers?”

This time, the girl did blink. Then, hesitantly, she nodded.

The relief that flooded Calista’s body was instant, a smile spreading across her face. “Can you show me? Show me how old you are?”

The girl’s eyes flicked to the plate held in Calista’s hands before she held up eight ashen fingers.

Now Calista wasn’t so sure, but she kept smiling anyway; the girl seemed so small for eight, but it was possible. “Have you been eight for very long?” she asked, trying to keep the girl engaged.

Her eyes never left the plate as the girl shook her head no.

Realizing she had no reason to hold it back, Calista held the plate out to her with an outstretched arm. The girl was a wounded animal, ready to run or lash out as necessary. There was no reason to provoke her. “I’m ten years older than that,” Calista said, waiting to see if the girl would take it. “That means I’m eighteen.”

“I thought you seemed a bit young,” Sandy said through a half-chewed bite of meat. Calista had all but forgotten she was even there. “I’m guessin your daddy left you a letter or something else cliché? _Don’t open it until you’re eighteen, then you can come and find me?_ ”

Calista’s smile faltered, since that was exactly what had happened, but pretended to ignore her.

Apparently the girl chose to ignore her as well, as she snatched the plate and quickly started shoving pieces of food into her mouth.

“Hey, it’s ok, there’s more.” Calista held up the rest of the gecko’s loin to show her. “You don’t have to eat it so fast.” She reached into her pack and took out a bottle of water, and rolled it over to the girl. It meant one less bottle for her during the heat of the day, but the girl probably needed it more than either her or Sandy. There was no way to know how long she’d been wandering the desert.

“She’s just gonna scram the minute she finishes that, you know,” Sandy said. Her own steak was hanging from a pocket knife she’d materialized. “Maybe this is just what she does.”

“If she’s eight-years-old she’s not got the mind for something like that yet,” Calista countered, her annoyance with Sandy growing by the second. Where had the protective tiger of a woman she’d met in Hurikan gone?

“You’d be surprised what an eight-year-old can do.”

Calista closed her eyes and held her tongue. _Joshua would be proud._

Instead of barking back, Calista sliced off another steak and set it in the pan. It started to sizzle, even off the fire. “Do you want more?” she asked, looking up to see the girl draining the water bottle slowly. She nodded vigorously. Smiling, Calista put two more slices in the pan, and set it on the fire.

“I’m gonna catch some sleep,” Sandy said, leaning back against her pack and pulling her hat down over her eyes. “You’ll be up taking care of this one for a while anyway.”

Even though it was true, the way she’d said it didn’t help Calista feel any less resentment towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note posted over [here](http://adira-tyree.tumblr.com/post/118263749062/authors-note-for-fallout-returning-home-chapter).


	15. The Road to Dixie

_“Calista, do you remember the first time you broke your leg, falling from a high cliff far from Dead Horse Point?”_

_Calista nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t walk on it but it was starting to get dark, so I made a splint for it out of two gecko bones and a strip of its hide. It was horrible, but I was able to get home.”_

_Joshua nodded, and she could tell from the slight little upturn at the corners of his eyes that he was grinning. “Yes. You have the gift of resourcefulness, something not often found in the wasteland.” He shifted closer to the fire, nudging at the sputtering coals with a stick. It shot up sparks, some of them landing dangerously close to Sandy’s terribly impractical shoes._

_“You will find, however,” he continued, “that there are many who have found other ways to be resourceful. There is always more than one way to solve a puzzle. Sometimes logic will suffice, but others…” he turned to look at Sandy, still asleep across from them. “Other times you need a different kind of gift. To be able to charm a stranger is equally as valuable as being able to outgun him.”_

 

* * *

 

Calista bolted awake just as the sun began to rise, bathing the sand in gold. She whipped her head around, looking everywhere for him, but he was gone; just a dream, again. Sandy was still asleep, her elegant fingers wrapped around the handle of her pistol – thankfully, the safety was on. Between them, the fire was dead, not even a hint of red lingering in its ashen coals.

Feeling a tiny movement against her back, Calista jumped, looking over her shoulder and expecting a little lizard or some giant spider to be crawling up to her – but it was the girl. Fast asleep and cuddling closer to what must have been her heat source after the fire burned out. She distinctly remembered the girl falling asleep several feet away, under Calista’s own blanket. She grinned, happy to have gained at least a little of her trust.

That raised a new issue though – what to do with her? She hadn’t planned on a child traveling with her, or on Sandy either. With a sigh, she realized that all the planning in the wastes couldn’t predict everything. _At least this girl can’t possibly move any slower than Sandy._

Part of her wanted to let both companions sleep a little longer, but it would be easier to travel before the sun got too high in the sky. They could stop for lunch during the high heat if they needed, but Calista knew that if she pushed these two, she might get them to the next town before then. The girl shifted again behind her, starting to wake up. Sandy, on the other hand, was still dead to the world.

Deciding against, kicking her in the foot while Sandy still held her pistol, she cleared her throat and quietly called out, “Sandy? Sandy, it’s morning.”

Sandy groaned and rolled over, somewhat less than glamorous at this time of day. Having slept so late the day before, she shouldn’t have had any trouble waking up early. Still, there wasn’t any coffee for her out on the road, and she seemed distinctly less human without a cup of it in her somehow. “Come on, wake up, Sandy.”

“Nhnm,” Sandy muttered, twitching her hand in Calista’s direction. “You do that.”

Laughing quietly to herself, Calista gave up. Instead, she turned around to face the little girl, who was sitting up silently with her arms wrapped around her knees.

“You know what I think?” Calista said, putting on a playful grin.

The girl shook her head.

“I think,” Calista said, standing up and holding out a hand to her, “you could use a bath. And so could I. Come on, I’ll take you down to the river and we can let grumpy here sleep a little longer.”

Sandy groaned something unintelligible, still managing to make it sound rude, but didn’t offer any further opinions on the idea. Hesitating slightly, the girl took Calista’s hand and let herself be pulled up to her feet. Leaving Sandy to wake up in the little cave on her own, they trailed down the bank to the shallow river, the glass-clear water reflecting the blue and gold sky above them.

“Do you bathe alone?” Calista asked, dipping her toes into the water. It still ran cool from the chilled air of the night, but cold morning swims were something she’d enjoyed for many years. _I suppose it’s my ‘coffee.’_

The girl shook her head, wide-eyed at even the suggestion.

“Would you like me to stay?” Calista asked, just to make sure. She didn’t want to make the girl feel uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to leave her alone either.

This time the girl nodded, trotting down to the riverbank. It seemed that she was no stranger to cold water either, as she waded right in without even a little gasp at the temperature. Calista opened her mouth to suggest maybe she take off her clothes first, but they were so dirty too that it might not be a bad idea to give them a wash as well. The method was less than ideal, but it would do – and it would probably be the easiest as well.

Glancing around across the dimly lit wastes, she couldn’t see any nearby threats. Far to the west she could see a small group of geckos, but they were just specks in the distance. Specks to keep an eye on, of course, but still just specks for now.

Without another thought, she tore off her clothes and jogged straight out into the deepest part of the water. It was barely deep enough for her to stay submerged to her neck if she squatted with her knees sinking into the soft riverbed, and the cold made her skin tingle. She scrubbed hard at the soles of her feet and her neck, using handfuls of silt in lieu of soap or washrag, smiling as she felt layers of grime peeling away. The water clouded up around her from the sediment, which she was grateful for when Sandy wandered down to the river’s edge moments later.

“Come to join us?” Calista asked with a smile. “Water’s _almost_ warmer than cold!”

Sandy laughed, shaking her head as she combed out her hair. “Not a chance. I’ll take a real bath when we get in to Dixie. I’m not partial to skinny-dipping.”

“It’ll wake you up like no coffee ever could,” Calista suggested sinking down a little deeper until the water came up to her nose. She stirred up the sediment again, just for modesty’s sake. The girl swam up to her with a grin, treading water despite the fact that she could likely stand on the bottom.

“No thanks,” Sandy said, holding up her hands. “I’d rather be groggy than cold as ice in winter, even with the high heat of noon threatening to positively melt me.” She continued brushing her hair, sitting down at the river’s edge and dipping her comb in the water.

“At least the dirt will keep your skin from burning,” Calista said with a laugh. “If I wasn’t already in I’d push you.”

“Oh I know,” Sandy said, smirking, “I’m a real wet blanket sometimes, but this time I’d rather be a dry one. Y’all just enjoy youselves, I’ll stay right here.” She patted the dry earth beside her for emphasis.

Shrugging, Calista turned back to the girl. She seemed at home in the water, like she should have been born a fish rather than a human. Calista took a handful of silt and held her arm out towards the girl. “Will you let me scrub you down a little?”

Instead of answering, she held out her arm towards Calista.

Progress. Calista kept grinning, even though she was hoping the girl would say _something_ if she kept asking questions. The ash and dirt on her arms had mostly washed off already, but the trails of blood on her arms and whatever was caked into her hair still needed some work. Calista was careful not to hurt her as she rubbed at the dried blood, not wanting to tear open any fragile scabs.

As soon as the girl was clean, or at least something close to it, she swam off in the other direction, seeming to enjoy being in the water. Anything that made her happy was good in Calista’s book. Happy meant one step closer to being able to learn something about her.

Calista dipped her own head under and dug her nails into her scalp, trying to rid it of sand and grit with only minor success. Still, it felt good. She wished she’d brought soap with her, but it was just one more thing to carry. And even though she knew how to make it on the spot, making yucca soap took too long to bother with except for special occasions.

When she popped her head back out of the water, Sandy was walking back up towards the cave again.

Calista took the opportunity to quickly head up onto the shore and shimmy back into her clothes. She still didn’t want to risk Sandy seeing her tattoo; damp clothes would be worth that continued luxury.

Squeezing the water out of her hair, Calista called the girl back to shore.

“Can you tell me your name?” Calista asked, leading her up towards the cave again to pack up their gear. She wasn’t surprised when she received no answer.

 

* * *

 

Much to Sandy’s dismay, Calista spent their entire walk to Dixie, the next city on their trip, trying to guess the little girl’s name. It seemed to amuse the girl, even making her laugh a little at some of the wilder suggestions like Yao Guai and Lakelurk. Even better, in Calista’s opinion, it made Sandy walk at a much more reasonable pace. The sooner they reached the city, the sooner Calista’s guessing-game would end.

Or, at least, pause.

When the small city was within sight, Sandy lit up like she’d seen that light of god Joshua was always on about. Her posture relaxed into the supple, smooth figure Calista remembered from the night in Hurikan, her eyes brightened, even her hair seemed to behave even though the wind had been pushing it around all morning.

“Now, you just leave this part to me, Doll,” Sandy said as they walked up to what appeared to be the only bar. The sign over the door read _Chuck’s Roast – Casino, Bar, Grill_ in big, red letters. She could see a few slot machines inside through the dusty windows. It looked like it had been a big place before the war, but most of it was in ruin now. The far end of the building it appeared had been cannibalized for repairing, or in some cases fully constructing, others. One building directly across from it had the same deck and fencing across the front; it and another nearby had matching windows.

By the time Calista had managed to muster up the courage to go inside, Sandy was already making friends with the barman. He stopped talking as soon as she entered.

“Caz?” he called out, the voice strangely familiar to her.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light as she walked up to stand with Sandy, having apparently already caught his attention.

“It is you!” he said with delight. “What are you doing here?”

Calista blinked furiously until her vision cleared, recognizing the familiar face covered with tattoos. “Chalk?” she asked, incredulous. “Forget what I’m doing here, what are you doing here?”

“I’d say it’s fairly obvious what _he’s_ doing here,” Sandy said with a giggle. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Hoi. I’ve known her all her life. And it’s Chuck now,” he said, smiling. He walked out from behind the bar to give her a hug.

Calista groaned as he squeezed her ribs in a tight yao-guai-hug. “Yep. Way back. Practically my uncle.” She kept blinking after he set her back down again. “Best friend of the man who raised me.”

“I take it he gave you that letter, then,” Chalk, or Chuck, apparently, asked as he sat down on one of the bar stools. “Seeing as you’re out here this far.”

“You knew about it?” Calista asked, raising an eyebrow. She couldn’t be mad at him, it was like trying to be mad at a puppy, but she’d always thought of him as someone who would tell her anything. The idea that he’d keep a secret that big from her mad her just a little bit sad.

He nodded, closing his eyes. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you. Joshua’d have my hide if I did. He told me in case something happened to him before you grew up.”

“That…” Calista trailed off, not wanting to think about something happening to Joshua. “That makes sense. I guess. Okay.” She glanced around the bar, noting it was empty. The sun hadn’t quite reached its zenith yet, but it would be lunchtime soon, and she’d rather avoid a crowd. “Is this..?”

Chuck nodded, his chest puffing up with pride as he smiled back at her. “Hit it big down in New Vegas and used the caps to buy the place. It’s small, but the place doesn’t see much trouble. I like that. North enough the Legion won’t come up, West enough that folks still come through pretty regular.” He stood, pointing to a set of stairs at the other end of the room. “If you’re staying, you’re more than welcome to a room or two. No charge, all of you.” He glanced between Sandy, Calista, and the girl.

“My heavens, we are!” Sandy butted in. “That’s so sweet of you to offer, sugar doll. I’m taking Cal here down to New Vegas; the caravan she was with ran into some trouble with a sick brahmin, and I offered to guide her instead. My name’s Sandy.” Her smile could stop hearts from a mile away in the middle of the night, but it didn’t appear to have much effect on Chuck. “We don’t know who the girl is yet, she won’t say.”

Chuck frowned, squatting down in front of the little girl. Sandy seemed genuinely perplexed that her charms had no effect on him, blinking as her smile started to fade. It was amusing enough to Calista that she decided not to let her in on the fact that he wasn’t interested in women at all – not even Sandy, with her alluring voice and elegant curves.

“Hoi,” Chuck said to the little girl, his voice soft and kind. “My name is Chuck. Do you want to tell me yours?”

The girl shook her head, stepping a little closer to the back of Calista’s leg.

“Tell you what, how about I give you something tasty, then I ask you again. Does that sound okay?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet. When she smiled and nodded, he stood and walked back around behind the bar, rummaging under the counter. He turned his next question to Calista again. “How did she get to being with you?”

“She found us,” Calista said, shrugging, “out in the desert.” She lowered her voice, leaning over the bar towards him as she continued, not wanting the girl to hear. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Bullfrog Bay was destroyed, just a few days ago. Whole place blown up by the Orabora. I think she might have been orphaned from there.”

Chuck nodded, his expression grave. “That would make sense.” He found a plate and took a single sweetroll out of a tin and set it on the bar. “Here,” he said to the girl, smiling again. “This is for you.”

The girl climbed up onto the bar stool in front of it and munched on it greedily, little bits of sticky sugar sticking to her face and fingers.

“Why don’t you two bring your things upstairs,” Chuck said. “I can keep an eye on your friend.”

The girl turned to look at Calista in alarm, but Calista just smiled at her and said, “it’s ok, he’s my friend. He’ll be nice to you, I promise.” She still looked concerned, but the sweet smell of sugar lured her back to her plate.

Chuck crossed his arms on the bar and laid his chin on his wrists, talking to the girl in a soft voice. Sandy and Calista took the opportunity to creep away up the stairs. They both agreed it might be best to let Sandy have her own, if only because she’d be up far later than either other party would want to be.

Calista took a room with two small beds at the far end of the hall. With luck, the distance would mean less noise. It was on the front of the building, with a large window looking out over the tiny city. She could see what looked like a small shop with a brahmin caravan outside, and several small houses – one with what looked like a small iguana farm. It looked like some crops were growing out behind it, but she couldn’t be sure. A man sat out on the shady porch of the building next-door, partly obscured by a sign with a sloppily painted red cross.

She set down her backframe, leaning it up against the little dresser in front of the window, and crashed down onto the closer bed. Her very bones felt like they would sink right through it; having grown up with Zion as her playground had helped keep her endurance high, to be sure, but she was no caravaner. Walking ten hours a day every day before setting up camp to sleep in shifts in wildlands only to wake up the next day, tear it all down, and do it all again was finally taking its toll on her.

“So.” Sandy’s voice in the open doorway made her jump, but she was too tired to scold herself for it. “Long lost Uncle with a sudden change of name? What did you call him? Chock?”

Calista withheld her grimace by biting her tongue. “Chalk.”

“I take it he’s one of those tribal sorts,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Just a guess.”

Calista nodded once, and returned to biting her tongue. The less she said, the less she might incriminate either Chalk or herself.

“Oh don’t blame yourself, those tattoos all over his face gave it away,” Sandy said, sitting down on the bed across from her. “Don’t think me a fool, I know you must have been raised with them. I’d wager pretty heavy that man that raised you took in a few other strays here and there too. He’s a good man, has to be. Civilizing those silly tribals must be quite a chore.”

_“I was a different man then. I enjoyed killing then. Now it’s simply a chore necessary to survive.”_

Every nerve in Calista’s hand was longing to throw a solid punch into the woman’s jaw; how dare she talk about “silly tribals” when she didn’t even know how to hunt? How to make basic supplies? For all Calista knew, the woman might not even know how to cook at all. Her fingers twitched against the worn mattress, but they stayed where they belonged. It would do no good to lose her guide now.

“Now look, Doll, I know you must be worried sick about this. I would be too! Honest!” Sandy held up her hands in a gesture of sincerity. “But don’t worry; I know better than anyone you can’t help who you’re raised with, or where. I didn’t ever want to grow up in Hurikan, but that was my lot. I won’t tell a soul, it’s not your fault.”

Despite knowing it was the polite thing to do, Calista _refused_ to thank her for it. Instead, she just nodded stiffly. She considered praying to Joshua’s God that Sandy would just drop the whole thing and forget about it, though he probably wouldn’t approve of this _particular_ sudden finding of faith.

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it, nobody likes talking about things that embarrass them, but–”

“I’m not embarrassed about _anything_ ,” Calista ground out through gritted teeth. Her hands were just barely starting to shake with anger.

“but,” Sandy continued, as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “I don’t want you hiding anything from me anymore. It won’t do any of us any good at all to be keeping secrets.” She pushed herself up from the bed, gliding back over to the door with the liquid grace Calista remembered from their first meeting. “I won’t ask you about your past, heavens’ know I don’t like to talk about mine. But don’t feel you _can’t_ talk about it if you want to.” Laughing quietly, Sandy grinned down at her. “You’re a crazy little yao guai, but I like you. You’re just like me.”

The concept no longer felt like a compliment.


	16. Bedtime Stories

       A few days after leaving Dixie the open road started to get to the girl. Calista didn’t quite know what to do about her reddening skin, the way it seemed to burn in the sun no matter what they did for her. It got to her through clothes, through the layers of dirt they left on her skin for added protection, through the salves of aloe that Calista slathered her with to soothe and moisturize her dying skin. Nothing seemed to help it.

       On the third day of solid desert travel, she started to wonder if it was a sunburn at all. On a whim, she broke into her precious stores of healing powder, setting it in the thick, sweet nectar of an agave plant. It set into her skin almost instantly, like her body was as dry as the sand around her; an improvement, but not a fix by far.

       “What do you think happened to her?” Calista asked, shaking her head. She crouched down in front of the girl, gently taking her arms and checking over her skin. It felt brittle, like sun-bleached pre-war paper.

       “Who knows,” Sandy droned. She lay beside the fire with one arm over her eyes and one under her head. “Hardly matters now, doll.”

       Calista sighed, shaking her head again. She brushed her thumb along across the girl’s tiny arm, watching a thin little patch of skin flake away to the sand.

       The girl still refused to speak, though she was quite able to scream and point when she saw a gecko in the distance. At least they knew she could make sounds if she wanted to; she apparently just didn’t want to. Knowing was good, if frustrating. It was possible that, eventually, they might learn what had happened to result in her following them. Calista still hoped to run across someone that might know her, but every day they traveled toward New Vegas, the possibility seemed less and less.

       Not for the first time Calista wondered if bringing her with them wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t that she caused them any problems. The girl was generally pretty well behaved, and mostly just clung to Calista’s side. She was small enough that she hardly cut into their food, and she kept up with Calista better than Sandy did. And, unlike Sandy, the girl didn’t complain about everything.

       If she had to guess, Calista would have said that Sandy complained all the time just because she like the sound of her own voice. But she was good for some things – like talking a merchant going the opposite direction into giving them water for no cost at all.

 _“My sister and I are traveling to find the rest of our family down ‘round New Vegas,”_ she’d said, looking wistful. She closed her eyes, looking all the world like she was trying not to cry. _“Our older sister, Maggie, rest her soul, got cut down by raiders, leaving our little niece here without a mother. She’s so blue about it, the poor kid won’t speak a word no more.”_

       It may have been partly true, for all we knew. I dropped my eyes to the ground and wrapped an arm around the girl, pulling her close to my leg. She didn’t object, and wrapped her arms around my hips, pressing her little face into my side.

 _“I’d heard raiders were gettin’ thicker up north.”_ The merchant even took off his hat in respect for our dead sister. _“What with the Legion getting more stricter about its borders. You might have trouble gettin’ in when you hit the border if you don’t have some sort of a pass.”_

 _“Damn.”_ Sandy kicked at the sand under the new boots she’d picked up in Dixie. _“We’re just trying to scram it home to family. They say it’s safe down there, no raiders, no lousy bunk – just safe everyday life. If they don’t let us in we’ll never make it back.”_

 _“No caps?”_ he’d asked, sympathy in his weak frown. It was a little sad watching just how easily she played him.

       Sandy nodded. _“And not enough wet to make it back even to Meskit if we don’t get let in. The border’s still at the intersect of Long 15 and and old 93, isn’t it?”_

 _“Tell you what I’m gonna do…”_ The merchant shook his head as he put an arm around her shoulders.He then proceeded to explain that he’d done well recently on some special shipment north up into the canyon, so he could afford to lose a few extra canteens of water – especially now that Caesar had decreed all drinking water be free of charge. Water sales up in the canyon were always hard to push, and they would just be taking up space in his cart anyway. _“And if you lovely ladies can get some use out of it, then why the heck not.”_

       “You really did great with that guy earlier,” Calista said, turning back to face the fire. “Thanks for that.”

       Sandy laughed, lifting her head to smirk at her. “I told you, I’m good at talking. He was a real pushover anyway, just hoping we were floozies. But no man is gonna try to nook with a grieving doll – they grab hold and don’t let go.”

       Cal laughed, finally starting to relax. “I have no idea what you’re saying half the time, but it’s funny.” She massaged the backs of her legs, groaning as the ache drained out of them like water from a twisted rag. “Where the fuck’d you get all these weird words anyway?”

       “In a book,” Sandy said, sitting up. “A few, really. I used to read this one book over and over when I was a girl. It kept me busy while we traveled. It’s an easy find, seems it must have been more popular than a snort in a speakeasy before the war. It was about love and death and parties, fabulous parties!” She threw her arms up over her head and wiggled ecstatically, shutting her eyes tight with her grin as her fingertips reached up to tickle the stars. “It was all just so glamorous I couldn’t stop myself from copyin’ it.”

       In truth, Calista hated reading. Reading was something she associated with the book of Psalms – the only reading she’d ever gotten to do. But stories were something she could get behind easily enough. She settled down on her sleeping mat, letting the girl slide in next to her under the blanket. “Tell me about it.”

       “Goodness, it’s been so long since I’ve read it,” Sandy laughed, “but then I must have read it enough times to get the gist right by now.”

       Calista could hear the metallic clink that meant Sandy had broken out her flask of vodka. This late at night, it wouldn’t be a problem, she hoped. Still, she was glad she’d managed to sell the full bottle of vodka in Dixie when she had the chance.

       “There’s this girl, you see. And when she’s round 18 she falls in love with a soldier boy. He promises her the world, and she believes him! But the war ends, and he doesn’t come back, just tells her _not yet, not yet_.” Sandy scoffed, drinking another swig from her flask. “Well, like any girl with sense, she stops waiting after a while. But wouldn’t you know, she goes off to get married to some other man, and she gets a letter from her soldier saying he’s coming home.”

       “Good timing.” Calista yawned, closing her eyes and snuggling her head down into the crook of her arm. A lazy grin spread across her face.

       “No,” Sandy countered. “She was already committed – she got married anyway. She doesn’t hear from him again for many years. He tries to lure her in with the most fabulous parties, inviting anyone and everyone he can think of, but she never goes. Her husband is cruel and ignores her, spends his time with other women, and she wastes away into a shell of her golden little self.”

       “Does he take her away from it all?”

       “The husband?”

       “No, the soldier.”

       Another clink, followed by the sound of the flask sliding back into a pocket somewhere. The fire crackled and warmed Calista’s toes.

       “No,” Sandy said, sounding almost wistful. “He tries to, but she won’t let him. She’d rather rot away in that big fancy house alone when she can see everything she ever wanted sitting just across the bay.”

       “Sounds like a rotten story. How’s it end?”

       “He dies. He dies and the husband takes her away and that’s all.”

       Calista sat up, frowning. “I thought you said this was a good story?” She leaned back on her palms, cocking her head to the side as she tried to look at Sandy over the fire, but it was too bright after having her eyes closed.

       Sandy laughed, shaking her head. “It is a good story. It just sounds a bit flat when you sum it all up like that. You’ll just have to read it yourself someday.”

       “Maybe.” She dropped back down to the mat, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know that love stories are really my thing anyway.”

       “It doesn’t have to be about a boy,” Sandy said quietly. “If I was her? Hurikan would be my husband and New Vegas’d my soldier. Only this time I’m really going to that party instead of just talking about it, and I’ll let him dance my dogs right off all night long. Maybe it will turn out to be a fairy tale anyway, but at least I’ll have tried.”

       To that, Calista wasn’t entirely sure what to say. They both had their reasons to get where they were going; she wasn’t going to pretend to really understand Sandy’s. Being in love with a city she hadn’t even seen in a decade? Still, she knew what it was to love a place. Even if she never went home again, Zion would always be home to her. The cliffs, the canyons, the shallow banks of the river. Maybe it was the same thing for Sandy with New Vegas.

       “Get some sleep, doll. It won’t be long before we’re in sight of that ratty old glow of mine. The end of the canyon puts us about a hard day’s walk to the border, last I heard. They’ve moved it up to Meskit. Then we can take a taxi in and be there in about 15 hours! Right in the heart of the Strip.”

       “A taxi?” the thought crossed Calista’s mind that this could just be a very odd dream. Taxis and husband-cities and miserable old books.

       “Gecko taxi. It’s a Legion thing. You pay some set fee and they bring you right into the closest city. Only it’s everyone in the same haul, not just the two, I mean three of us. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

       The girl, number three, was already asleep. Calista grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of the girl’s mouth. She reminded her a little of Falling Waters, somehow. “They sound like strange people.”

       “It’s supposed to be better for the roads,” Sandy said, sounding unconvinced. “Those people are just mad about roads.”

       A silence fell between them as Calista thought about all she’d heard about the Legion so far. On the one hand, they were practical, resourceful, and committed to making the wastes safer for their people to live in. On the other, they were cruel warriors that killed anyone or anything they didn’t see eye-to-eye with immediately. Merchants didn’t have any qualms with them, but average citizens weren’t keen on them at all.

       Another thing that made her wonder was the fact that she didn’t have any idea really how the war had gone during any part of her own life. As a rule it was something Joshua had avoided, asking merchants not to tell him about it unless it immediately concerned Zion. And apparently Vulpes had made it his job to keep the Legion firmly _out_ of Zion. Maybe he hadn’t had to do anything at all, but Calista didn’t really have any way to know for sure.

       Except to meet him and ask.

       She barely hid her laughter. Oh yes, that would be a great conversation. _“So! **Dad.** Did you have to really kiss Caesar’s ass to do it or did he just kind of take you at your word that there was really definitely nothing to worry about up in that weird canyon to the North?”_

       Again she pushed the whole thing out of her mind. Every time she thought about the pros and the cons of the Legion she came to the same conclusion – she couldn’t make any sort of decision until she’d seen them for herself. For the most part, she hadn’t asked anything of anyone. It didn’t seem to make sense to ask people who weren’t living in it. All the people she knew who had been there were merchants or drifters. Neither really had the same type of life as someone living a sedentary life in a Legion settlement. Nomads saw everything through different eyes.

       “You gonna level with me about any of this?”

       The sudden intrusion of Sandy’s voice made her jump. “I told you, I’m trying to find my father.” All truth and no detail.

       “What makes you so sure he’s in New Vegas?”

       “He’s not. But it’s a starting point. I can ask questions about him, try to see if anyone knows him or where he is.”

       “You leave a lot to wonder.” Sandy’s voice went dry and flat as she spoke. “I already know you were raised with some of them silly old tribals. There can’t be that much left to tell.”

       “What makes you think I want to tell anyone, let alone you?” Calista wanted to shout it but kept her voice low so she wouldn’t wake the sleeping girl. “You always push and pry and try to tear out any little thing you can about a person. Some things I just don’t want to talk about.”

       “Well why ever not?” Sandy asked; she ignored the complaint itself entirely.

       “Maybe because the last time you asked questions about me you insulted everyone I’ve known for the last 18 years?” She leaned forward, not if her words sounded like an attack – they were. “You tell me it’s not my fault and that I shouldn’t be embarrassed, _and I’m not_. You say you won’t ask about my past and then start up again a few days later like I’ve forgotten.”

       “I wasn’t asking about your past,” Sandy said sweetly, ignoring the hostility in Calista’s tone. “I asked if you were going to tell me anything, and why you think New Vegas is the right way to head.”

       “Because that’s where I was told to go look,” Calista said, an air of finality in her tone as she dropped back down. If she didn’t look at the woman ever again it might be too soon. Sandy may as well have been poisoned yucca juice. Sweet to taste and foul to swallow. “I was told go there so that’s where I’m heading.”

       “After all this time he might have gone somewhere else,” Sandy countered. “Most people up and left that didn’t want to get bumped or pinched by the Legion the minute they came to town in.”

       Calista rolled her eyes. She wouldn’t say it a third time.

       “So maybe you’re saying, or rather trying not to say, that he wouldn’t have had a problem with that. And no Strip fella would bother walking you out through the canyon himself…” Sandy’s voice trailed off.

       Hiding the inward groan Calista heaved as she could feel Sandy putting one and one together, she waited for the hateful outburst Joshua had taught her to feel at the mention of the Legion. If she herself hated them for what they did to one man, then Sandy full of love and loyalty for the NCR she was born into, would surely hate her every bit as much for being related to them.

       “He’s a Legion man, isn’t he.”

       “So what if he is,” Calista snapped, still trying to keep her voice down though she could barely hear it over the blood pounding in her ears. If this kept up they’d be traveling separately in moments. “They steal fucking _children_ and make them into soldiers, it wouldn’t have been his fault.” She wasn’t sure if she was defending him for his sake or for hers, but she wasn’t going to give an inch when it came to this – and it’d be best if Sandy learned that now. Before she got a fist in the nose.

       “Calm down,” Sandy muttered. “I know it. I’ve met folks who’ve lost family that way. Cousins or brothers in other cities get swept up and taken away by them. I know a woman who lost a little brother that way. She said she found him again, years later, and wanted to jump off the Dam after she saw what they’d done to her sweet baby brother. Turned him into a mindless killer that spoke in tongues. I know it’s not their own fault. It’s those Caesars of theirs, telling them how to breathe.”

       It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected at all. Where she thought would be a merciless onslaught there was only a dull lack of surprise. Her heart still pounded hard in her chest, waiting to use the adrenaline it had pumped into her bloodstream. Had she misjudged Sandy, or was this simply another ploy of some sort?

       “I wonder if I have any brothers,” Calista wondered out loud, slowly deflating. _To hell with it_ , Sandy was a damned mind-reader anyway. “I don’t know a thing about my family, other than that I was supposed to die because I was a girl.” It only took a moment for all her anger to turn into near-misery.

       “It’s evil,” Sandy said, though there was no energy or malice to her tone. “Killing babies just because they ain’t useful. But at least your old man still had good enough left in him to keep you alive. That’s something.”

       Calista couldn’t help but grin. “He gave me my name,” she said, still grinning like an idiot as she thought about it. “Calista. It means ‘the most beautiful’ in Latin.” The more her mind lingered on the words, the more she was desperate to be there in New Vegas right that moment. She blinked hard, silently wishing that when she opened her eyes she’d be there. Free of Sandy, free of relying on the helpfulness of others and her own pathetic luck. But Calista wasn’t the only one who needed help. She doubted Sandy would have made it on her own, not without someone to carry her booze and fend off attacking animals.

       Sandy laughed quietly, low and silky. “You must have mattered a quite a bit to him. I hope he’s worth it.”

       “I guess I did.” Calista stretched her arms out with a shudder before curling back up and closing her eyes to sleep. “I guess I do.”

 


	17. Tabellarius

       Reaching the edge of the canyon wasn’t something Calista had been quite prepared for. It mostly drifted away when she wasn’t noticing, getting shorter and shorter as they traveled farther south. She’d first noticed it as they were leaving Dixie – when she went outside, the towering stones she was so used to were simply not there. If she thought back, it had been the same in Hurikan, but she hadn’t had the time to focus on it. Now, as they walked what so many called the Long 15, she was noticing the general flatness more and more.

       It had gotten a little better as they crossed into old Arizona, apparently leaving Utah. She was sure that someone had told her before that she had been living in Utah, but it again didn’t really seem to matter until it wasn’t there. It felt strange to miss something she was leaving behind when she realized she hadn’t cared about its presence in the first place. The names of the old states only pertained to those who cared about imaginary lines in the sand, and otherwise had no relevance. To her, she could have been living in Utah or Canada; both were north of where she was going, at any rate.

       More jarring than the fact that she was evidently crossing another border marking the lines of her life was the creeping presence of Legion.

       From all she’d been told in her life, she didn’t expect it to be subtle. The legion wasn’t a calm, dusty red and sun-sparked gold – they were violent like fresh-let blood and the poisonous tones of a Golden Gecko. They themselves weren’t even present, and yet she could feel their closeness in the relics they left behind them.

       Arizona apparently held a deep significance to the Legion – according to Joshua (and now Sandy as well) it had been where Caesar had been “born.” The man himself, Joshua had told her, was really Edward, and had actually been from the southern reaches of California far to the west – but _Caesar_ had no doubt been born in Arizona, of that there was no question. How the two men were different, Calista wasn’t sure she’d ever understand. What she was beginning to understand however was just how much he felt he needed to remind everyone of his importance.

       “Well I thought we might have more trouble getting through up here, what with it being home of the Caesars, but I guess they figure the monuments are enough,” Sandy said with a sigh, almost sounding disappointed that she didn’t need to weasel them through another dead sibling scenario or something similar. “That one’s new though,” she said, nodding a gesture as she pointed towards the border. “The one closest. The old ones I remember, or at least I remember being told about, but this one still shines from being scrapped together.”

       Calista’s eyes drifted in the direction she was pointing, but Sandy’s words stopped her. “What do you mean, Caesars? I thought there was just one man named Caesar.”

       “Oh there was.” She yanked the straps of her pack a little farther forward, pressing it away from her shoulders with her thumbs. “But when he died they named the next one the same thing. The NCR has presidents, the Legion has Caesars. It’s sort of like a title now, I suppose.”

       “The first one died?” Calista stopped, turning to grab Sandy by the arms, falling back into every speech pattern she’d tried so hard to break in her attempts to become polite and likable. “When’d he die? How? Tell me about what happened after. How many have there been? Who’s Caesar now?”

       “Slow down there doll,” Sandy said, almost laughing at the seriousness on Calista’s face. “You didn’t even know? You’re acting like Primus was your old man himself.” The disgust on Calista’s face as apparently evident enough the moment Sandy had brought up the concept, and Sandy held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, it’s not like we don’t have the time to chitter. Keep those dogs moving and I’ll tell you what I know.”

       Calista instantly released her, having barely even realized she’d grabbed on in the first place. If Joshua had known, he would have told her, she was sure. And if he didn’t know, she wanted to remember every word Sandy told her so that she in turn could tell him in a letter as soon as they stopped.

       Beside her, the girl, still covered up in extra shirts to cover her red and blistered skin, pulled on her pant leg impatiently. Calista smiled absently and offered her hand, which the girl took instantly, but Calista couldn’t keep focused on her as the three of them continued forward.

       “As far as I know, old Primus, or _pree-mus_ as they pronounce it, the one you know, anyway, died out on the battlefield during the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Everything about it was a catastrophe. The fight itself churned up so much dust the NCR’s men could barely see each other, let alone where to shoot. A lot of them ended up bumping off their own men, just because they’d gotten turned around somehow along the way.” Sandy brushed a loose strand of hair away from her mouth as she continued, squinting to try to see farther.

       “But no matter how it happened, the NCR lost a lot of men. Too many to recover themselves on the second day of it. But both sides just kept feeding them in like little candy dots on rolling paper. One of the ways the Legion fought was to put out its newest recruits first, use them to tire out the enemy until they’re exhausted. Then, after they can barely tell what way is forward, the Legion hits ‘em with their toughest brutes, their big sixes, and drags them down to the bloody end.”

       Calista shook her head, confused, as she interrupted, “but what’s that got to do with how Caesar died?”

       “Well,” Sandy said, patiently, “it was a rough battle for both sides. Apparently, this is the story they tell anyway, when it came down to it, they brought out everyone. Old Caesar there wasn’t going to give up the Dam if he could help it, not a second time. So it comes down to the final hour, and they get out all the biggest names in the Legion.” She grinned, starting to get excited by her own story. “They were all there! Caesar, his guards, the Monster Legate, Inculta, Six,” she ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke, her lips puckering up like they were sour even to speak.

       Beside her, Calista hoped Sandy didn’t see the shiver that ran up her spine when Sandy said ‘Inculta.’

       “I heard they even brought out the dogs, but I bet that’s a load of baloney. Nobody wants to be fighting a battle tripping over their own hounds.” She shook her head, and held her hands up in the air in front of her. “Anyway, they say that when the dust finally settled, they found Caesar with a bullet gone right through the side of his throat. Slashed right into that artery there and he was bleeding out all while that Courier tried to stop the bleeding. He’d gotten to be something like a father to the young man, after losing his memory and all over that chip for the 38.” She waved a hand, brushing the words away.

       “Point is, that Caesar died out on the battle field – but he’d won. Hoover Dam belonged to the Legion. Any NCR that was left turned-tail and ran for greener pastures back in California; it’s very close to New Vegas as is, just keep going down this same road and you’d get there, though the border’s closed now.” She chugged a great gulp of water from her canteen and wiped her brow with the back of her hand, adjusting the bandana that had been holding her wavy hair perfectly in place. It looked like sunlight, tucked back behind her ear.

       Calista realized she was staring, but didn’t quite care.

       “Do I have a fly-away or something?” Sandy said with a concerned laugh, giving her a strange look. “What’s a matter?” She patted her hair carefully, just in case, when Calista didn’t reply.

       “Anyway,” Sandy continued, choosing to ignore Calista’s odd behaviour, “things were all lined up, just in case the old man kicked it. Next in line was that Inculta man –”

       Calista focused very hard on not immediately snapping her eyes back to Sandy at the mention of the name.

       “– but he chose not to take it. Something about leaving it to men better suited, not wanting to leave his position – he was a spy or something of the sort, if I recall. Lead the whole group of them. But old Caesar wanted to turn the whole thing into a hereditary position, so it fell to his son. The boy was only a child though, not even a year old. So that Courier stepped in and has been acting as a Regent ever since! I figure he knew Inculta wouldn’t take the job and was just waiting for it to happen, but no one really knows. They call him Caesar _Tabellarius_ I think; it means Courier in their language.”

       A boy? If this Inculta she was referring to was the same Inculta that was her father, that meant she had a _brother?_ Maybe even more brothers? A shudder crept down her throat; had she been the only Inculta _girl_ in the last 18 years? At least she knew she was his firstborn, but who knew how many others had followed after? And what of their mother?

       Mothers were shared among the Dead Horses, raising all children together, with only the father showing lineage. To them, a father was the most important person in a child’s life, for children of either sex. Mothers were nurturers, but fathers were the ones to teach life skills, survival skills, trades. But Joshua had told her many times that in most of the wasteland both parents were equally responsible for their own specific children – that perhaps an individual mother held the most sway over her own birthed or adopted children.

       He’d also told her that in the Legion, everything was different. So who could know? Maybe mothers were completely unimportant, for all she knew. Even to her it was a strange concept. She forced away the little voice that reminded her that Legion women were slaves, and that her own mother would be no exception.

       “Let’s stop up here at this newest atrocity,” Sandy said, breaking into Calista’s thoughts and gesturing at the metal contraption she’d said was a new monument. “I want to get a look at it. We can have a quick lunch in the shade if we hurry.”

       There was no time for even a late lunch really, at least if they were going to get anywhere _near_ Meskit by sundown, but Calista didn’t complain. There was already a large pool of shadow cast on the northeastern side of the… whatever it was. The always silent little girl pulled her hand out of Calista’s and sat down behind it. She chewed on a piece of fruit while Sandy and Calista moved around to the front.

       From what she could tell, it seemed like this stretch of the Long 15 was populated largely by massive, shaped, scrap metal monuments, and little more. They were crude, but nevertheless conveyed their imagery.

       “The Burned… Man… Lives?” Sandy read, though she ended it with a question mark that wasn’t in the source text from what Calista could see. “What the hell is this all about?”

       Calista almost laughed, though it wasn’t particularly funny to her. It was a nervous laugh, creeping up through her throat in a way that made all her tense muscles begin to ache at once. She held it down, deciding against explaining it to her. After Sandy had been kind enough to fill her in on the current Legion history, it wouldn’t make sense for her to know much about the older stuff.

       “No idea,” she said, looking it up and down. In the center, a man knelt down, holding his arms out wide towards the skies as what looked like were meant to be flames surrounded and towered over him. The metal was painted in streaks of red, orange, golden yellow, and white, the letters and the figure both painted in a brilliantly bright white that burned her eyes to look at. The sun seemed to dig into it and radiate out even brighter. “Come on,” Calista turned and moved towards the girl behind it. “Let’s eat and get out of here. This thing scares the fuck out of me.”

       “Wait til you see the rest of them,” Sandy said grimly, pointing down the road south. All along it were shining metal figures, dotting the edges of the road for miles.


	18. The Halvert Family

       “Are you a registered citizen of Caesar’s territories?”

       “No.”

       “Name?”

       “Sandra Halvert.”

       “Where you coming from?”

       “Hurikan, up north of Dixie.”

       “Reason for visit?”

       “My sister here and I are bringing our poor sister Maggie’s, rest her soul, little girl down to live with her family in Freeside.”

       The guard lifted the hood off the little girl’s face with the tip of his pen. “She doesn’t look a thing like you.”

       Sandy glanced around before leaning forward and whispering, “I bleach. Look, you can probably see my roots now.”

       Rather than looking at her scalp, he raised an eyebrow.

       Sandy huffed, standing up straight again. “Well I don’t like to mention it, but I was adopted. I’m the middle child. Maggie, rest her soul, is really only Cal’s sister here.”

       Calista, for her part, had done a magnificent job of keeping quiet – partly because she was having trouble adjusting to the sight of a man in Legion armor, skirt and all. It was composed of so many different pieces and parts, looking more complicated than she could ever have imagined. Was this what her father would have worn? Maybe even still wore. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected them to wear, maybe something similar to Joshua but in red. He had mentioned before what they wore, but having never seen it made it hard to picture.

       This certainly wouldn’t have been the first mental image she’d have conjured. While it would protect well enough for hand-to-hand or bladed combat, a bullet – any type of projectile, really – would blast through the hardened leather panels with ease. The edges of the red sleeves were frayed around his biceps, outright torn in places, but were pristine compared to the black skirt. It was shredded, cut into strips to show the loose, red layer beneath.

       Not only was his armor in a pathetic state of disrepair, but she couldn’t be sure what was to show rank and what was simple supply shortage. Some men had black layered over black, some black over red, and some with either had gold stripes running along the under layer. Some had more layers to their leather than others, some with pouches and pockets sewn or strapped on randomly, and some had a swath of deep red fabric across their chests pinned to the shoulders. Goggles, bandanas, thin leather helmets, feathers, black leather straps – all distributed seemingly at random. For something she’d been told was the epitome of organization and rigorous structure, they didn’t at all appear it.

       “What?” she asked, realizing the man was staring at her impatiently.

       “ _Name._ ”

       “Cal.”

       “Got a surname?”

       She jerked her head in the direction of Sandy. “Same as hers.” She’d already forgotten what she’d said, so she hoped he’d accept that.

       “I thought she was adopted.”

       “She was young.” Calista rolled her eyes. Of all times to forget the few meager lies they’d spun together, now was not ideal.

       “Where you coming from?”

       “…Hurikan.” She blinked a few times at him.

       He paused in his writing, shaking his head. “Are _you_ a registered citizen of Caesar’s territories?” He pointed at her with the end of his pen, not lifting his hand from the paper.

       “I came with her,” Calista said, jabbing her thumb in Sandy’s direction.

       The guard sighed rubbing his forehead hard with his fingers. “I just need to fill out the right paperwork. Answer the questions and you can be on your way.”

       “No.”

       “No?”

       “No, I’m not a registered citizen of Caesar’s territories!” Calista said, exasperation dripping from her tone. “And neither is she,” she continued, pointing at the girl. “ _She_ also has the same last name as the rest of us, because Maggie’s husband didn’t live to see their baby born. _I’m_ a caravan guard, Sandy doesn’t live anywhere a child should. That leaves our – MY – father the only one around to take her. So that’s where we’re going.”

       “Is he a registered–”

       “I honestly have no idea, I haven’t seen him in a very, very long time.”

       “Look, woman,” he spat, “I don’t enjoy this any more than you do.” He sighed again, flipping through their papers. He scribbled a few words down on a third piece, stamped all three with a seal of some sort, and handed all three to Calista. “These are your papers,” he said, writing their names down on a ledger on his desk. “They say you’re here legally. Don’t lose them.” He brushed the three of them on with an annoyed wave of his hand, still writing in his ledger.

       The three of them quickly scampered forward, leaving the small fenced-in area. Another guard opened a gate for them wordlessly, shutting it behind them with a click. Calista watched the latch drop into place, shivering.

       This was it.

       She was out of Zion. She was in Legion lands now, officially. _Legally_ , even.

       Sandy giggled, hooking her arm through Calista’s as they walked. The girl took Calista’s other free hand, clutching it with both of her own.

       “You’re a crazy little yao guai,” Sandy whispered, grinning ear-to-ear. “I’ve never seen a woman go up against those brutes so live! I’m surprised they didn’t turn you right around and out, but it worked! Let me see those papers?” She took them out of Calista’s limp grip – she was only half listening.

       “Sandra Halvert, Cal Halvert, and,” she flipped to the last of the three pages, read the name, and leaned forward to look at the girl still clutching Calista’s hand, “get this – _youngest_ Halvert. I guess he didn’t ask her name, did he. Just as well, since we don’t know it.” She flipped back to the top page, looking it over. “You know she’s almost starting to grow on me, but we really need to do something with her at some point.” She scoffed, giving Calista a bemused look. “It’s all in Latin, too. _Sandra Halvert_ , _Meskit_ – oh ‘via,’ I’ve got ‘via’ – via _Hurikan, 19 Aprilis 2296._ Nineteenth? Did it really take us a full week to get here? Hn.”

       Calista was still taking in the sight of the town itself as Sandy rattled on. It didn’t even seem quite entirely like one town. Half of it reminded her of Dixie and Hurikan, with old pre-war buildings in various states of disrepair, and scrapmetal shacks hacked together in varying shapes. But there were others made in entirely different ways, with walls made of stones and grout with red clay tiled roofs. Behind the houses to the south, fields of weak-growing crops were irrigated by men and women manning pumps along the river.

       “Oh! There’s one of those taxis I was telling you about,” Sandy said, unhooking their arms, but pulling Calista along anyway. The three of them jogged down the main street to the far end of the town to where a tall wagon sat empty except for a bored-looking driver. He was leaning far back in his seat with a hat pulled down over his eyes.

       “Excuse me!” Sandy called up to him. “Excuse me, I was wonderin–”

       Wordlessly the man pointed at a small stone house to his right, behind the wagon, then tucked his arm back across his chest as though nothing had happened at all.

       “Oh.” Sandy shook her head and made a face at him, but he didn’t respond at all. She walked around behind the wagon towards the house, and Calista hesitantly followed behind.

       The house itself had a large open section in part of the front wall. Just inside it, another man sat looking every bit as awake and interested in life as the first had been.

       “Good morning!” Sandy said, turning the charm back on.

       The man opened his eyes lazily, but seemed more interested when he looked Sandy over. He stood, leaning forward to speak with her. “Mornin.”

       “When does the next trip in to New Vegas leave?”

       Calista, ignoring them, touched a careful hand to the building’s stonework. It wasn’t particularly beautiful, but it was solid and cool to the touch even in the morning sun. The inside even _looked_ more comfortable than the scrap metal disasters she was so used to seeing. She wondered absently if it would still feel claustrophobic to her, or if the stones would remind her enough of home to be comfortable.

       “Cal? Cal, doll, you have,” Sandy turned back to the man, “what was it?”

       “In caps, 60. In denarii, 15. Be glad we don’t accept NCR dollars anymore, you probably would’ve cried hearing that one.” He laughed and shook his head. “You’ll want to get your caps exchanged over at the old bank in the middle of town. Legion denarii are the only true legal tender here now, though a lot of places will still accept them – you know, since that’s what most of the wasteland still uses.”

       Sandy smiled agave-sweet at him then stepped over to Calista, putting a hand on her arm. She was still running her fingers over the stonework. “Here, tell you what, give me however much you want to get exchanged and I’ll run it over and deal with that. And you can keep track of… where is she?”

       Only then did Calista realize that the girl had let go of her hand.

       Her eyes widened and she snapped her head around in every direction, looking for where she could have gone off to.

       “Miss?” the man at the window said. They both looked over at him, then followed the line his arm pointed in.

       Calista jogged over to where he was pointing, to the front of the wagon where two massive, deep orange geckos were hitched up to it. To her horror, she was standing in front of one of them, her tiny, red-splotched hand gently petting its nose as it happily shook its ear-fins.

       “She won’t bother none,” said the driver, though he still didn’t appear to have moved since directing them before. “These two are sweet girls. Probably just roll around on the ground asking fer belly rubs if I let ‘em.”

       “Maybe I’ll just go work on that exchange,” Sandy said, backing away from the creatures regardless of the man’s words. “You just stay with her, you can pay me back later.” She sprinted away as fast as she could manage without seeming entirely rude, giving the driver a chuckle.

       “Guess she don’t like my girls.”

       “She’s…” Calista threw her arms up and shook her head with a numb smile. “I have no idea what she is anymore.”

       “Hah!” he straightened his legs out and rolled his shoulders, shaking his head. “Welcome to the wild world of women, miss.” He grinned, revealing his tobacco stained teeth. “I take it y’all are heading in to New Vegas with me then?”

       Calista nodded, watching the girl’s grin grow as she continued to fuss over the gecko. “You sure they’re harmless? I’ve spent half my life hunting green ones up north of here.” She hesitantly reached out towards the other one, jumping when it bumped its nose right up against her palm.

       “Course! Can’t have wild’n’s in this line of work. Train ‘em myself from little eggs. Big eggs, really, but you get the idea.” He dropped the reins and stretched his arms out wide to either side, groaning as his back clicked and crunched into place. “Nina and Princess, though I usually call ‘em Nin and Cessy.” He pointed at the one Calista was petting. “That’s Cessy. And she’ll whine right loud when you stop that, but don’t let her keep you at it. She won’t never let you stop, but she’s a workin girl. Does a good job running, and the eggs sell for a good price.”

       “I barely remember the last time I had gecko eggs.” Calista gazed dreamily on through Cessy, remembering when she was 12 and Joshua had made them for… for some special occasion, she was sure. She squinted, puzzled that she couldn’t quite remember. “I was just a kid back then.”

       He gave Calista a look that she could tell meant he thought she still was a kid, but he washed it away with a laugh. “Well you’ll have to try them again then! Check out the Vault 21 café, Sarah’s usually got a good stock in.”

       “A vault? One of those underground metal-tunnel homes?”

       “Yep! Man called House converted it into a hotel some years back. Bit ironic, really.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Blew whole parts of it up to seal it off. Caved in like it was made of sticks ‘stead of concrete.”

       She shuddered at the thought. If they had outdoor seating, she’d consider it.

       The little girl stayed with the Geckos, eventually simply lounging at their feet, until it was time for the “taxi” to leave. She made such a sad face when Calista told her it was time to get in the wagon that the driver said she could sit up with him so she could see them better. That was enough to please her, and the wagon slowly filled up with passengers.

       Aside from Calista, Sandy, and the girl, there were only three other passengers: a young woman that looked to be only a few years older than Calista, a boy that was probably about 10, and a very bored looking legionary that would be filling in for the regular guard. Sandy sat across from Calista, the young woman next to her, and the boy curled up on the bench beside Calista and was asleep in moments. The guard, unamused, took the seat next to the unknown woman with black hair and dark, golden skin.

       As soon as the guard was settled, he dropped a board into place across the back of the wagon and smacked the side of it with his fist twice. The driver jerked reins and the two geckos, begrudgingly slowly started hauling them forward.

       “Well it’s good to have you with us today, folks,” the driver said, leaning back and talking over his shoulder. “Weather’s fine and the sands are slow, so we’ll be averaging a pretty fast pace. Today’s stops include the farms in Riverside for a pickup, the checkpoint at Roosenmore, a brief stop at Moapa Res, followed by Nellis and then of course our final destination at Freeside.” One of the geckos screeched as he shook the reins again, urging them to go faster. “If and when you hear that noise, don’t fret a bit. That’s just Cessy being her-princess-self. She’s a mite lazy, but she’ll be happy once she gets goin’ a bit.”

       With no responses or questions to contend with, he broke out into song. The songs were all like stories, and nothing Calista had heard before. Sandy called them folk songs, saying they sprang up like wildfire anywhere there was someone with a guitar and a halfway decent vocabulary or a story to tell. The Dead Horses had their own songs too of course, but the only songs she’d ever heard aside from those were ones sung by caravaners – usually Jay. Calista wondered if the Jay and this driver knew any of the same songs, watching the world roll by beside the wagon.

       Another shake of the reins they were going faster than she’d ever moved in her life without there being an angry yao guai behind her. It was disconcerting, moving without moving her legs at all; she stretched them, wiggling her toes out in front of her. If she looked to her right she could just barely see the foot of one of the geckos. She opted to look left instead, watching the world pull away from her. Though the concept had been, and somewhat still was, strange and almost terrifying in a way, it was quickly growing on her. For once she could work towards her goal of finding her father without actually _doing_ anything, and Sandy seemed content with not saying a word.

       She listened to the driver’s songs all the way to their first stop, where an old man joined them on their wagon, sitting with a wary eye across from the legionary. After explaining the remainder of their route to the man, the driver went back to his songs. _My baby loves me like a deathclaw_ segued nicely into a _in’t no grave gonna hold my body down_ , even if it was a bit grim. For one song the old man at the back of the wagon tapped his foot and hummed along, but otherwise everyone seemed to ignore him – though the girl, sitting beside him, had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

       When they pulled in to the checkpoint at Roosenmore, Calista very quickly realized that “checkpoint” and “military encampment” were synonymous. They waited in the wagon outside the fence, handing over their papers for inspection one by one. The checkpoint guard chatted idly with the wagon guard as he looked everything over.

       “It’ll take a few minutes for your paperwork to get entered into the terminal,” the checkpoint guard said to the group. “Everything checks out, so you’re free to enter the camp while you wait. Head straight for the center and you can find food and facilities. The quartermaster isn’t allowed to trade with you weapons, but anything else is fair game.”

       Calista chose to sit in the wagon and eat old bits of gecko jerky from her pack instead.

       Just a little farther down the road they dropped off the old man at Moapa Res. They couldn’t help but smile when he was greeted by three tiny, excited children and their tired young mother. The driver didn’t let them linger on it though, and as soon as the man waved him on they were back on the road. Once they were at top speed, Calista just closed her eyes tight and held on. Fast still wasn’t something she was used to, and it was making her sick to her stomach.

       It wasn’t until the sun was low in the sky and they could see the lights of New Vegas that she opened her eyes again. She almost jumped right out of her seat with how close they were – maybe she’d fallen asleep and hadn’t realized it. She felt like she could reach right out and touch the shining signs; her eyes focused on the massively tall spire in the center, glowing silently above the rest. The driver slowed the cart as they grew closer. The vibrant shades of the city diffused across the sunset in a splash of color like nothing she’d ever seen before.

       “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sandy said, grinning. “That beautiful, ratty old town.”

       All Calista saw in it all was the strangely bright sky, interrupted by crumbling pre-war buildings that she would make every effort to avoid if she could. Her already roiling stomach clenched at the thought of them coming down around her the moment she set foot inside.

       “I suppose,” she muttered, ignoring the look Sandy gave her.

       “I agree with you both,” said the dark-haired woman, pointing lazily with one finger to Sandy beside her and then across to Calista. “Is beautiful and shit all at once. But I’ve lived there all my life. You get used to it quick. It could be worse.”

       No one asked what worse would be, and Calista didn’t want to think about it.

       “When I was a girl, my mama used to tell me stories. She tell me about my father, about life in Nipton, about how no one knew whether to be happy or scared when they heard NCR was advancing.”

       “Careful ma’am,” said the driver quietly. “I can’t have any mention of them on my cart.” Calista glanced quickly over at the legionary, but he didn’t seem to give a damn that anyone was even talking.

       The woman waved his words away and rolled her eyes. “She said, _‘life was hard, my little one, but you could get by. The ground was dead, the water was foul, but you could get by.’_ She knew it was no place to raise a baby, but my father was there. She loved him so. Every night she sit and wait for him to come to bed, hold him close all night, and in the morning there were caps on her table. She’d hide them all in a box, under her bed.” She nodded once in a final sort of way.

       “Well, when the Legion come to Cottonwood, she was distraught. She didn’t want to get caught in the fighting – the warpath of either army. But she stay, because she loved my father very dearly, and he wasn’t leaving.

       “Every night she asks him, _‘why do we not move to the city, why do we not move to the city?’_ And every night he says, _‘hush, hush, we’ll talk about it in the morning my beauty.’_ And every morning, he was gone, and there were caps on the table. She hid them in the box under her bed.” She crossed her arms, leaning back and pursing her lips.

       “But one night, he comes drunk. Very drunk. She ask him, _‘why do we not move to the city, why do we not move to the city?’_ And he says to her, _‘shut up and let me do what I come here to do. I pay you like always, just the same. Then you can go all the way to the city by yourself if you want. The whores are still cheaper here.’_ And he hit her. Right here.” She tapped her finger just under her eye. “It broke her cheekbone. So she hit him over the head with a bottle and she left. Went all the way to Freeside. They fixed her cheek up there, but it always have a scar.” She drew her finger back and forth across her cheek, marking it out.

       “Next day, Legion come to Nipton. Burn it to the ground, killed everyone. For all she knew, he was already dead anyway.”

       “Ma’am…” the driver urged uncomfortably, but the legionary wasn’t listening at all. Either that, or he was trying not to look like he was, and was succeeding thoroughly.

       “Back in those days, you never know who to fight for. Back then, she fought Legion because it meant a better life for me. By the time she died, she fought NCR because it meant a better life for me. Everything is always changing. Everything. So, now I go back north to our homeland every year and put flowers on her grave. The fighting is done.” The woman stared out towards New Vegas, shaking her head and sighing. “This is Legion land, and is safe land, and is a land where I don’t need to worry about how to survive. She doesn’t have to fight for me anymore.”

       She kept watching the wall of the city as they drew closer. “My mama wasn’t no whore. She really thought he loved her, and that they were saving to build a life together. When she was young, like you, she was innocent and happy. When she was old, she was bitter and sharp like bad tequila. But she got a better life for me, and after she gave up on my father, that was all she prayed for.”

       They all sat in silence until they reached the city gates, which were surrounded by men in black jackets. Some of the men lounged lazily against the city walls, leaning back against them with one foot up on the wall or digging into the ground. Calista didn’t even bother to ask if she needed to get out her papers here too. They were already showing signs of wear where they’d been folded and unfolded all day, marking her trail with little stamps here and terminal entries there. In Meskit, at the farm where the old man was from, at the checkpoint, at Moapa Res, now soon they’d add a stamp for New Vegas. They and anyone who looked at the paper would know every step she’d taken on her journey in Legion lands.

       Or rather, every step of _Cal Halvert,_ whoever that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part 2! After NYCC I'll get started up on part 3, but there are already a couple pieces written. I'M SO EXCITED =D


	19. PART 3: The Light that Stole the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for drug use portrayed in the second section. I'll leave a brief summary of the part in the end notes for anyone who would rather skip that part.

       Freeside was bigger than Calista had imagined. In the dark, though with all the lights she could hardly call it that, she felt like the buildings were all looming down over her, reaching down to grab and hold her while they crumbled.

       “Let’s scram, doll,” Sandy said, glancing around as she pulled Calista who in turn pulled the girl along behind her.

       “Wait, is there a healer here?” Calista asked, wide eyed as she shuffled forward. The whole place made her feel ill, but she wanted to get the girl looked at. Her skin was still red and flaking, and it had only gotten worse no matter what Calista seemed to do to it. “There has to be one somewhere, in a place this fucking massive huge.”

       Sandy laughed, still dragging her along. “What, trying to snag yourself a doc for the night?” Calista didn’t laugh, but Sandy kept talking like she hadn’t said anything in the first place. “There’s a whole fort of them,” she pointed down to her right, “down that way. Followers of the Apocalypse. I gather you want to get our smaller companion here looked at? Deal with that frightful sunburn she has?”

       Calista only nodded as she followed.

       “It’s not a bad idea, and maybe we can leave her with them before we head for the Strip. Casino’s no place for a child.” Sandy laughed again, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen this old town in years. It’s grown since then, you know. I didn’t recognize that bit on the North side. Used to be just a tiny little rat hole; no one ever even spoke about North Vegas, even less than they did about Westside.”

       But Calista had already stopped listening. As soon as Sandy had said her long-winded form of ‘yes,’ all that mattered was getting the girl there as soon as possible before her skin was too permanently damaged. Even now, slowly dragging her though the city towards what was probably the best hope of healing her, Calista was afraid even to hold too tight to the girl’s arm. It looked, and felt, like the slightest little pull would rip the skin right off.

       The Followers’ fort was, to her surprise, a pre-war construction, and a very old looking one at that. The fort was entirely open to the sky, just four thick walls and a small tower in one corner to the right of the entrance. Not far inside was a small group of guards seated at a rickety old table next to a man in a lab coat. When he stood, Calista wasn’t sure where to look – he was taller than any man she’d ever seen, but behind him one of the guards looked like she was made out of worn-out leather and had no nose.

       “I take it you’re not sight-seers?” the tall blond asked, looking between the three of them. “Or are you here to take in the scenic beauty of antique our tents?”

       “There’s something wrong with her skin,” Calista said, pushing the girl forward before Sandy could even open her mouth. “I’ve been trying to treat it with aloes and healing powders, but it’s not like any sunburn I’ve ever seen.” She glanced at the woman behind him again, looking at the patterns in her skin. It looked almost like burns, similar to Joshua’s sin once she thought about it.

       The woman stood, graceful despite the obvious problems with her skin, stepping forward and around the doctor and looking down at the girl’s arm as Calista held it out. “That’s because it ain’t no sunburn,” she croaked, her voice ragged and gritty like her skin. The doctor turned to face her, eyebrows high in shock. “That’s an early stage of becoming a ghoul.”

       “You’re kidding,” he asked head whipping back and forth between her and the little girl. “A new ghoul?”

       “No doubt in my mind about it,” she said, nodding. “This right here is the littlest ghoul.” She knelt down in front of the girl, who didn’t back away for once. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

       “She doesn’t talk,” Calista said quietly. “She hasn’t since we found her.”

       “Found her?”

       Calista dropped to her knees, her vision swimming. “Oh god,” she cursed, rubbing her hands over her face as her stomach began to turn. “She was at Bullfrog. Bullfrog Bay. They nuked the whole place, I didn’t think anyone had survived—” Her head was spinning with the memory of the place, of the bodies, the silence of it all. The terrible silence muffled by ash. Another little girl, face down in the dirt.

       “Bullfrog Bay?” the doctor asked, kneeling down too. “Where is that?”

       It took her a moment to realize the question was being asked of her and not someone else. “It’s north of here, up the Colorado and into the canyons.”

       “Oh. So our only water source is now irradiated. Maybe that means we’ll get to examine ghoulification even more closely,” he said, shaking his head. “Wonderful. We’ll have to tell the King about this.” He glanced up at Calista, adding, “In fact, you should, since you’re the one that knew about it. Maybe he can get Six to do something about it.”

       The leathery woman smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You can’t keep calling him that.”

       The doctor shrugged apathetically. “It doesn’t matter right now. Well, we should get you all checked out for radiation,” he said, standing up with a groan. He held out a hand to help the woman beside him up, but she brushed it away, staying down next to the girl.

       “She’s gonna need a name if she won’t tell you the one she had,” she said brushing a hair behind the girl’s ear. A few of the brittle strands snapped and fell away. “Let’s call her GG. Short for Ghoul Girl. That sound good, hun?”

       The girl glanced up at Calista, then nodded, turning back to the woman.

       “Well GG, my name’s Beatrix. Most people call me Bea.” She held out her hand and shook the girl’s firmly. “This here,” she pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, “’s Arcade. He doesn’t really like talking to people, but he’s a good doctor. I don’t think he can stop what’s happening to you, no one can, but we can make it easier.” Bea patted the girl’s arm, grinning. “It ain’t so bad anyhow. Just can’t let people get to you.”

       The doctor, Arcade, motioned Calista forward. “You should both come with me. I’ll make sure you don’t start glowing at night too.”

       “What’s a ghoul?” Calista asked, looking confused.

       Bea cocked her head in surprise. “Well I am, for starters. You mean you ain’t heard of us before? You must have been living under a rock all your life.”

       “In one, more like,” Sandy muttered. She was standing off to the side, arms crossed tight over her chest and eyes cast down to the ground, several feet away from them. “She grew up with tribals.”

       Calista glared at her over her shoulder. “You got something against it?”

       “Everybody comes from somewhere,” Arcade interjected, not bothering to look back at them as he spoke. He marched them forward towards one of the tents. “No sense arguing that. Sit in here for a minute and I’ll get the Geiger counter so we can see how much of GG’s glowing personality rubbed off on you.” He chuckled to himself, the laughter sputtering away almost as quickly as it had started. “Sorry. I’m no good with people. I’ll be back in a minute.”

       Calista didn’t say a word to Sandy until they were back out on the main street of Freeside, alone, head still spinning from the dose of Rad-Away Arcade had given her. It left her irritable, and she hated the way it had to be fed into her through the needle in her arm. She’d blanched at the sight of the stimpacks as well, but through luck she was little more than bruised from her trip. She was glad she’d only ever used healing powder. _A simple tribal remedy._ The thought reminded her again of Sandy’s words, and she snapped.

       “The fuck is your problem with me?” Calista spat, glaring at Sandy like she was prey. “I can’t change how I grew up, neither can you.”

       “Hey now,” Sandy said with a laugh, “I know it, I’m sorry about that. Cool down, I’m trying.” Her forced smile didn’t help to bolster Calista’s confidence in her. “You know I don’t mean a thing by it.”

       “Don’t you? You’ve been giving me shit about it from the start.” She hissed the last few words out as Sandy grabbed her by the arm and dragged her closer. “You need to back off before–”

       “Before what?” Sandy’s words were like honey as they fell from her lips. “Before you put me down like I did that old dog back in Hurikan?” She grinned, hiding her teeth behind her carefully painted red lips as she slowly pulled Calista down towards the Strip gate. “Doll, we both know that ain’t your style. Besides, you’re not really as angry with me as you think you are. You know, everyone and their mother’s going to tell you the same thing out here: tribals are trouble. They don’t know half of what they need to just to get on out here, and half the time you ain’t got half a clue what they’re on about. Spitting gobble-di-gook and hia-watha’s left and right?”

       Sandy turned, giving Calista a sympathetic gaze. “And I know it ain’t your fault, doll. And the man your daddy trusted to bring you up weren’t wrong to shelter one of them too. But you’re going to have to get used to something out here in the cities: we don’t trust tribals. You’d be better off forgetting them.”

       Her teeth ground hard against each other as Calista tried not to scream at her. “You don’t just _forget_ your family. And I’m not the one that goes bringing them up to people we haven’t met before,” she gritted, harsh and hot. “In fact, I hadn’t planned on mentioning it at all!”

       Sandy brushed the comment away with a wave of her hand. “There? There it probably made them want to help you more. Out here though? Out here I wouldn’t dream of saying it.” She pointed at the gate, which had crept up on Calista while she seethed. “Now up here? These securitrons? The big blue robots? Just ignore them. Keep your hand on your gun and don’t say a word. You’re my guard. They won’t worry none about that. All right?”      

       Calista was about ready to punch Sandy in the jaw when she looked up at the “securitrons,” and her rage instantly turned to terror. Angry faces on flickering screens stared out unseeing and yet very obviously knowing everything that happened around them, and rusted pincers on arms too long seemed to almost float towards her. They barely even bumped up or down as they rolled around the uneven ground in the cage surrounding the gate. She stopped moving entirely just to stare at them, barely even seeing the tiny looking Legionaries standing against the gate itself behind them. She and Sandy were still far enough away that none of them seemed to notice.

       “Cal? Oh come on, doll, they won’t do anything if you do what you’re supposed to,” Sandy said, trying to pull her. Calista wouldn’t budge.

       “Quit calling me _doll,_ ” Calista said, but the fire wasn’t in her anymore. She wasn’t even in the Strip yet, and it was already too much for her. Towering buildings and rusting robots that could probably snap her in two like an aloe leaf, filled with people she probably had to _lie_ to just to keep on good terms with. The bright lights and colors of the Strip seemed to pull at Sandy like a moth to flame, but Calista was afraid to even approach it.

       “Just look surly and keep your hand on that heater of yours, Sandy muttered. If you’re planning on staying part of this little _family_ we’ve built, get those gams in gear and scram with me.”

       Calista blinked, shaking her head, broken out of her thoughts. “I have no idea what you just said.”

       Sandy sighed and rolled her eyes. “I said, look surly and–”

       “I heard you,” Calista snapped, glaring at her. “I just have no idea what you meant.”

       “That’s more like it,” Sandy said with a grin. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

       “It’s New Vegas, doll!” Sandy said, her smile all teeth and her eyes sparkling. She raised her martini, already dancing. “Loosen up and let go!” The vibrant blue of her sequined dress sparkled like the stars.

       Only, when Calista looked up, she could barely see the stars. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the sky, wondering where they went.

       “She’s got the idea.” A tall man in a suit walked up and stood next to Calista, watching Sandy carefully. “Who’s your friend?”

       “Uh…” Calista started, heart still beating in rapid distress at the loss of the stars. “Sandy.”

       After being given a grand tour of the Strip by Sandy, they’d settled on getting a room at the Tops. It was no Lucky 38, but the Tops wasn’t as high class as the Ultra Luxe or as low class as the Gomorrah. “ _A happy little medium_ ,” Sandy had said, grinning so wide her gums started to turn white. She threw her pack open on the middle of her bed and instantly began pawing through it, for what turned out to be the dress she was wearing now. Within minutes of their arrival, she was already cleaned, made up, and heading back out to the main floor. She followed the noise out to the party out behind the casino, and, with nothing else to do, Calista had followed her.

       The man, who Calista now noticed with a glance had a few flecks of grey beginning to hint across his dark hair, kept watching her, grinning with interest. “She seems like quite a gal. She got a boyfriend or anything I’m gonna piss off if I talk to her?”

       Calista frowned, finally really tearing her eyes away from the empty black sky. Sandy was kicking up her feet sideways towards her hands in a dance that, while not quite fitting the music, fit Sandy perfectly. “I don’t actually know. Probably not? She’s…”

       “She’s gorgeous,” he finished for her. “Name’s Swank. This is my joint.”

       “Oh,” Calista said, actually taking in his appearance now. He was a good looking man, though a little old to be going after Sandy, Calista thought. His dark hair was slicked back and streaked with a few thin traces of grey, and he looked like sometime in his past he’d had a broken nose and cheekbone – the whole side of his face appeared to drift inward.

       Swank laughed, turning to take in Calista’s appearance finally. “Well don’t sound so impressed!” He looked her over quickly before turning back to watch Sandy. She was dancing with with another woman in a pale pink dress in the crowd.

       “I guess I just don’t fit in here,” Calista said, trying not to sound defensive.

       “There’s a stray cat in every crowd,” Swank said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’d say follow your friend’s advice – loosen up and let go.” He clapped her on the shoulder before walking out towards the crowd. He picked up a fresh martini off the on his way over, leaned over the bar to say something to the bartender, then waded into the crowd and handed it to Sandy. She smiled and winked at him, handing him the empty glass.

       He threw it in the pool.

       Giving up on Sandy’s guidance, Calista walked over to the small outdoor bar and settled herself on a stool. She felt out of place in her worn out jeans and the loose black top. _It shows off that neat tattoo of yours, ‘ll make people think your tough. That’s good in Vegas. You want them to know from the get-go that you’re no silly little trifle._ Even having her hair down felt strange. She glanced at the hair wrap tied around her arm like a makeshift bracelet, wishing she had it up where it belonged.

       “Boss says you’re on the house tonight,” the bartender said, polishing a glass. “What can I get ya, doll?”

       Calista closed her eyes and breathed deep. If another person called her doll, she was fairly certain she’d explode. _Maybe I do need to loosen up._

       “I mean…” Calista started, trying to grin, “I’m not much of a drinker.”

       The man grinned. “I know what you’re saying. We’ve got some other options.” He pulled out a small, silver briefcase and laid it on the counter behind the bar, opening it to face Calista. “Pick your poison.”

       Calista’s eyes widened. Carefully laid out in foam padding were a variety of canisters and syringes, some she recognized, some she didn’t. Her gaze lingered on the tiny Med-X needles before flicking over a massive psycho container and two different kinds of inhalers. She knew she shouldn’t, but if it was on the house… _Fuck it. Fuck all of it. The robots, the buildings, the noise, the light that stole the stars, and absolutely everyone who’s called me DOLL._

       Glancing back to the crowd, she saw Sandy dancing happily with Swank, her second martini almost empty. Laughing, dancing, happy.

       Turning back to the bartender, she nodded towards the upper left corner of the box. “That’s more my style.”

       He grinned, pulling one of the tiny needles out of the case and setting it aside. He placed it discreetly in a napkin and laid it on the counter for her. “Ladies room is just back inside and down the hall to the left. Have a good time baby!”

       She picked it up and had to force herself not to run to the door. Just as bad was convincing herself to go back inside the massive building again though, where even the starless sky went away. Her arms trembled as she pulled the door open, a cold sweat forming on the back of her neck. As soon as it was open enough for her to squeeze through, she nearly crashed into a man walking out; she didn’t bother to mutter an apology, just rushed past him in the direction the bartender had told her.

       To her relief, the bathroom was empty. Wasting no time, she tossed the napkin, pushed any bubbles out of the syringe, and plunged the needle into her arm. She leaned back against the wall, already feeling her rapid breaths come just a little bit easier – though her heart was still pounding. Slowly she depressed the blue liquid into her arm, watching the little window in the side of the syringe empty. It didn’t need to be fast now.

       With careful movements, Calista pulled the needle back out and slipped the cap back on it. Not sure what to do with it, she slid it into the holster bag on her hip, groaning as she remembered that her tomahawk and her gun were sequestered away in a vault somewhere in the casino. Part of her mind argued that she wouldn’t need them, the rest argued that it didn’t matter because she _wanted them_.

       Guilt hit her gut again, knowing Joshua would be disappointed in her, again, if he knew she was shooting up.

       She brushed it away. Joshua wasn’t with her, didn’t know what she needed or why. Wouldn’t find out. Didn’t need to know. Steeling herself, she muttered, “I’m eighteen. I don’t need him now.” The words made her warming blood chill again for a moment.

       When she felt the walls beginning to push inwards towards her again, she shivered and wished for the open air of Dead Horse Point and the sturdy cave she shared with him.

       The door slammed open and two giggling women entered, chatting quickly back and forth about some man or another. One pushed into a stall while the other carefully dabbed a red goo onto her lips. “Oh, babe,” the woman at the mirror said, looking Calista over. “Here, you need some of this.” She moved over to her and dabbed the red goo onto her lips as well. “There you go. Puts a little color on you.” She laughed, half tripping her way back to the mirror. Her shoes had little spiky heels raising her up off the ground, cream colored to match her faded gown.

       The air was thick in the room, and the goo on her lips was thick and pasty, but the walls didn’t seem to be falling in anymore at least. She smiled as she stood up straight again. It didn’t really matter all that much anyway, so what if the walls caved in? She didn’t have anything to do that night anyway.

       Again the door opened, and as another pair of women walked in Calista walked back out. The red on her lips felt sticky; she mushed it around poked at it with her tongue and found it to be bitter. Maybe best to leave it alone then. Most of the women in the casino had some sort of color on their lips too.

       For a moment she thought about going back out into the courtyard, finding Sandy, and jumping right into that pool.

_I need my tomahawk._

       She marched up to the desk.

       “Can I have my gear back?”

       “Leaving so early?” the man at the desk asked. “Was there a problem of some sort? Something we can do to make your night better?”

       “Nope. I just miss my stuff. Never take it off.” She grinned, leaning with her elbows on the counter and her chin on her palms.

       “Sorry babe, policy’s policy. I can’t give your things back unless you’re on your way out.”

       “Fine. This place isn’t for me anyway.” She gazed through him with a mellow grin, finally calmed down for the first time in days. Even though the man seemed upset, there were too many other things for him to be worrying about to deal with one girl who wanted to leave.

       “I’ll send up your ticket,” he said, turning away from her to help a couple who had just entered. He took their weapons, bundled them up just as he had Cal’s, and sent them away with another man. A few moments later, the same man came back with a much smaller bundle, which he handed to the man at the desk, who unwrapped it for Calista.

       The familiar weight of her tomahawk at her side only made her mellower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Summary of second section:** having decided that The Tops is the best option for their first night on the Strip (cheaper than the Luxe, classier than Gomorrah, and not difficult to get into like the 38), Sandy dresses up and hits the dancefloor in the courtyard. Cal follows, though she's not at all comfortable there. Swank, owner of the Tops, says "She’s got the idea. (Loosen up and let go.) Who's your friend?" He's immediately drawn to Sandy. He tells the bartender that Cal's poisons are on the house for the night, to get her comfortable her first night on the strip. Cal ends up using her newly acquired Med-X in the bathroom only minutes later, then grabs her weaponry and checks out for the night - she misses the feel of her tomahawk at her side. The combination of its familiarity and the Med-X in her system leave her feeling wondrously mellow.


	20. A Smoothskin with Sympathy

       Calista woke with a groan and a choked sob, feeling like she had spent the whole night with a yao guai trying to punch a hole through her skull.

       “Congratulations,” whispered an all too cheery voice, though it was obviously forced and annoyed. “It’s a hangover.”

       She rolled over, blinking furiously until her vision slowly began to clear, to see the blond Followers of the Apocalypse doctor from the day before sitting in a chair next to her. Confused, wondering how in the wastes he’d found her, she blinked again, hard, looking around.

       “We’re in a tent.”

       “You’re already doing better than a lot of people do after their first night in New Vegas,” Arcade said, his tone dry as the sandy ground. “You must be a fast healer.”

       Calista frowned, trying to look angry at him, but the movement made her head hurt even worse. She shut her eyes tight with another groan instead.

       “You remember any of last night?” he asked, not moving.

       “I…” Calista started, trying to think. Her head seemed too sluggish, and it was hard to do anything with the constant pounding of her own blood in her ears. “I remember I left the Tops. I was angry… Angry at everyone. And Sandy. _Especially_ Sandy.” Rubbing her eyes, she stretched her shoulders forward and then to the side. “So I left.” Her back clicked into place with a satisfying pop.

       “Anything after that?” Arcade still sounded very annoyed, but the tone was already beginning to fall away.

       She blinked again, watching the top of the tent ripple in a breeze. All she could seem to come up with was a big expanse of nothing. Flashes of faces, of a big brown bottle, of… “I think there was water somewhere?”

       Arcade laughed, finally moving to hand her a bottle of water – which she drank down half of in long, greedy gulps, despite how oddly salty it tasted. “According to the ghoul that brought you in, that was the fountain in front of the Ultra Luxe. Which you were swimming in. Securitrons frown on that, you know.”

       “Why the fuck don’t I remember that?” Calista tried to sit up, but only made it to her elbows. “I don’t really remember a damn thing after leaving the Tops at all.”

       “That would be because you decided to mix downers with downers and somehow managed to stay awake long enough for some of it to wear off. If you’d passed out with all that in your system you might not have woken back up,” Arcade chided. “Mixing Med-X with alcohol is dangerous.”

       “I don’t normally drink,” Calista snapped back, trying not to care that the sound of her own voice made her vision blur.

       “Oh, but the Med-X is just your average Tuesday? Or did you mean that about nearly killing yourself with mixtures of chems and booze?”

       There didn’t seem to be any good responses to that, snippy or otherwise. Pursing her lips, Calista took a deep breath and kept silent.

       “I’m sorry,” Arcade said with a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m no good with people. I don’t normally work with patients; I’m usually doing research. But since I was there when you brought GG in, they wanted me to handle you. Familiar face and all that.”

       Now that she was really starting to wake up, Calista could hear men and women moving around out in the courtyard, muffled conversations and the metallic clinks of instruments on trays and tables, thumps of boxes being dropped into place. “How is she? Can you help her skin?”

       He shook his head, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “She’s going to be a ghoul, that much we’re certain of. We’ve had a few ideas on how to try to slow the process? But her skin _is_ going to decay and fall into the same state of Bea’s in the end either way. And Bea isn’t keen on letting us turn her into a lab rat either, even if it could make GG’s skin last a little longer.”

       “Have you asked GG what she wants?” Cal asked, already knowing the answer before Arcade nodded.

       He stood, shoving his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “She won’t speak. She hasn’t even responded with gestures since you left. But she eats, she drinks, she entertains herself. And not in the same ways you do.” Turning to leave, he added, “when you’re up to it, meet Bea out in the courtyard. Maybe the two of you can get something out of her. Finish your water.”

       Calista rolled her eyes, flopping back down to the mattress with a thud as he walked out. It wasn’t that she minded helping the girl, GG – it would take time to get used to her having a name now. But something about the way he simply told her what to do and expected her to do it without complaint reminded her of the way Joshua would do the very same thing after scolding her. She drank the rest of her water slowly, stewing over everything that had been bothering her for the last several days. Sandy still topped the list, but the woman’s absence was dramatically improving Calista’s opinions of her already.

       By the time Calista decided to brave the world outside the tent, it was already past mid-day. The courtyard was fairly empty, aside from the scurrying of doctors back and forth from one tent to the next. Near the front gate, two people sat at a table nestled in behind a pile of sandbags. Squinting in the too-bright light of the sun, Calista still couldn’t see who they were until she was close enough to say hello.

       “See you decided to rejoin the living,” Beatrix said with a grin. “Wild night?”

       “No idea,” Calista muttered.

       Beatrix laughed shaking her head. “Well let’s assume you had a good enough time to be able to regret it properly today.” She gestured to the woman next to her, another ghoul with thin, wispy bits of vibrantly red hair still clinging to her deteriorated scalp. “This is Annie. She heard you brought GG in to us and wanted to come meet the girl, but she hasn’t wanted to leave her tent all day. Hasn’t wanted to do much of anythin since you left, really.”

       Annie, unlike Beatrix in her faded jeans and t-shirt, wore one of the Followers’ lab coats like Arcade did – only on her it seemed more like a tent draped over her shoulders. She smiled prettily with pink goo smudged over the remains of her lips. Calista rubbed the back of her hand across her own lips, remembering that someone had painted them red the night before, but nothing was on her hand when she looked at it after.

       “It’s nice to meet you. I’m a researcher here with the Followers. It’s always good to meet another smoothskin that’s willing to go out of their way to help a ghoul. A smoothskin with sympathy.” Annie glanced over to one of the tents, shaking her head with a short laugh. “GG’s lucky she found you.”

       Calista followed her gaze to see GG sitting on the ground, half-heartedly playing with a stuffed bear. “Doesn’t look like she thinks so.”

       “She’s been like that ever since you left her here,” Beatrix added quietly. “She doesn’t trust me yet, or anyone else here for that matter.”

       Calista’s heart hurt for the little girl, remembering how afraid she’d been that first night out under the stars. Had it been cruel to leave her here with strangers, even kind ones, without any warning? The girl wasn’t just a burden to shrug off at the first available opportunity, even if Sandy did think that of her. She balled her hands into fists, trying very hard to forget Sandy even existed. “I’ll talk to her,” she said, not waiting for a response.

       The tent the Followers had given GG had three beds in it, a bunkbed to the left and a single to the right, with a small table covered in papers and books at the back of the tent between them. Presumably, she shared it with at least one other person, which was probably best at least until she got adjusted to the place. They’d given her some real clothes to wear instead of the stitched up rags she’d been found in or the oversized shirts Calista had found for her. Still, they weren’t quite the right fit for her, hanging off her limbs and giving the impression of a skeleton trying to pass as living, breathing human.

       “Hey,” Calista said quietly, sitting down in front of her with a smile.

       At first, GG smiled widely, dropping the bear entirely – but her smile turned to an angry pout just as quickly as it had appeared.

       “Are you angry I left you here?” Calista asked, trying her best to look apologetic.

       GG nodded, crossing her arms and staring down at the ground. She picked up the bear again and crushed it to her chest behind her arms. It was obviously quite angry with her as well.

       “I didn’t know they would want to keep you here. But they can help you. Where I’m going it wouldn’t be safe for you.” In truth, Calista wasn’t sure of that, but continuing to travel with her would more than likely get them both into trouble one way or another. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you got hurt because you came with me.”

       GG continued to stare at the ground with the same angry pout. She hugged the bear a little tighter.

       “They want to help you. They’ll keep you safe, give you a home. Maybe you can even make some friends here your own age.”

       Still GG stared downward.

       Calista dropped her gaze, picking at the dirt under her fingernails. “I know what it’s like not to have anyone your own age to play with. I miss my friends very much right now. I think Falling-Waters would really like you. You might like her too. She likes to help people, but she likes to play quiet games with people. Little things to confuse them when they’re not looking, like move something across the room and see if they notice it.”

       That at least got a tiny little smile out of GG, but it went away just as fast as it had appeared.

       “Give them a chance?” Cal asked, putting a hand on GG’s tiny knee. “They might be able to fix your skin, and that’s something I can’t seem to do for you. I want you to feel better. And if you don’t want them to do anything, that’s ok too, but at least let them talk to you about what’s happening. It could help other people someday, if it happens to them.”

       No response.

       Calista sighed, standing up. “Think about it. If you really don’t like them, maybe we can figure something out. But I really can’t take you with me where I’m going. I’m sorry.”

       GG picked up her bear and climbed up onto the upper bunk bed, laying down and looking out across the inside of the tent.

       “Well at least that’s something,” Calista muttered to herself, walking out of the tent and back towards the two women seated near the entrance. “Maybe I only upset her worse,” she said to them, her shoulders slumping. “But at least she knows she can’t come with me and that this is where she’s staying now.”

       “Give her time,” Beatrix said with a soft smile. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. She’s had a rough few weeks, and it’s only going to get harder now. Even more so if this one has her way.” She jerked her thumb in Annie’s direction, rolling her eyes and turning her body away from the woman.

       “All I want to do is give her supplements to see if they slow the process. It could lessen the pain, at least!” Annie snarked back, crossing her arms. “I’m sure you remember what it was like. We might even be able to prevent that aspect altogether.”

       Beatrix huffed, her expression tight but not unsympathetic.

       “Remember when your nose came off?” Annie said quietly, leaning closer to her. “How much your throat hurts at first and how sick you get all the time from it? The pain aside, it’s terrible to go through. What if we can make it easier for her? At least make her less afraid when the time comes.”

       “Are you sure all that’s going to happen to her?” Calista asked in alarm, eyes widening and stomach turning at the thought of someone’s nose simply rotting away and falling off. “Can’t you do something to help her?”

       “I don’t know,” Annie said, “but I want to try. Arcade has said that as long as we keep to simply trying to slow the process and dull the pain, it’s fine with him and Julie.”

       “Julie runs this whole place,” Beatrix explained, gesturing with a vague wave of her hand. “Sort of everyone’s boss, since they cut this group off from the mother back in the NCR.”

       Annie picked up a pile of paperwork on a clipboard from the table behind her, flipping through it. “If I’m right, I can use the same core ingredients in a stimpak in a capsule form and keep her overall health up.”

       “I tried using healing powder salves on her skin to preserve it, but it didn’t seem to help much,” Cal said, shrugging and crossing her arms. She shifted her weight back and forth from foot to foot, wondering if she should have brought up the tribal remedy or not.

       “I think it did more good than you’re giving yourself credit for. Right now she still looks like she’s got a bad sunburn.” Annie looked up from her paperwork, watching Calista seriously. “If it kept her from being in pain, that’s just as important as keeping her skin in the best possible shape. What did you include in the salve?”

       “If I had my things I could just give it to you,” Calista said, groaning as she remembered that everything she owned aside from her weapons was still in Sandy’s room at the Tops. “I’ll see if I can get it later.”

       “I’m not sure if RadAway would help or hurt her at this point,” Annie continued quietly, nodding to Calista as she spoke more to herself than anyone else. “I’m not sure we should even try that. If her body thinks she’s a ghoul already, it could cause her terrible pain.”

       “Just keep yourself under control,” Beatrix said to Annie, who just rolled her eyes and kept muttering about herbs and radiation. “As long as you remember we’re dealing with a person and not just an experiment, then I’m ok with it too.”

       “They were never just experiments to me,” Annie snapped, slapping her clipboard down on the table again. “When they left, they left because Keene took them and without Doc Henry there anymore Marcus couldn’t stop them.”

       “Enough,” came Arcade’s voice from behind Calista. She jumped, having not heard him approach. “We agreed to stop arguing about Jacobstown the day Annie became an official member of the Followers. Let’s leave it that way. I’m sure Cal doesn’t have interest in drama from twenty years ago anyway.”

       Calista held up her hands in surrender. “Don’t pull me into this one,” she said with a half-laugh. “I just want to make sure that the girl is safe and happy so I can keep on with my trip.”

       “New Vegas is probably the safest place in the South-West at this point,” Arcade said in a sardonic tone. “As long as you don’t mind Legionaries making sure you don’t step out of line, chems being produced on a black market instead of open trade – making them often more dangerous than ever because of the unsanitary conditions in which they’re produced, the Frumentarii listening for mentions of that _horrible, evil democracy_ to the West–”

       “Oh hush, you old man,” Beatrix said, frowning. “It’s better than it was when House was running the show.”

       All of this was going completely over Calista’s head. She didn’t know much of anything about the Legion, or the NCR, or who House even was. The only things she knew about the Legion or NCR were the few morsels Sandy had given her, and the outdated stories Joshua had told her. She had no idea what a Super Mutant was, or what they had to do with Jacobstown, or who Marcus or Keene or Doc Henry were. Most importantly, she didn’t really care – and their arguments were already getting on her nerves.

       “I’m sorry,” Annie said, looking up at Calista again with an apologetic gaze. “We’ve been so rude, bickering about old quarrels you don’t know anything about.”

       “It’s fine,” Calista said with a shrug. It really wasn’t fine, but it wasn’t worth arguing over.

       “I’m going to go talk to GG about what I’d like to do for her,” Annie said, getting up and heading for the tent. Beatrix followed her wordlessly, offering her seat to Arcade with a sweep of her hand.

       “Much obliged,” Arcade said dryly. He took the chair anyway, looking like a giant in the tiny old thing, and drummed his fingers on the table.

       Calista, not knowing what she should do next, sat down in Annie’s chair.

       “I hope I’m not going to have to meet you again tonight the same way I did last night?” Arcade asked with a smirk. “How’s your head?”

       “Not bad, actually.” It still throbbed dully, but not enough that she’d even remembered she was hungover. She’d adjusted to the sunlight quickly enough, and the glass of water had perked her up quite quickly.

       Arcade grinned, leaning back, looking genuinely happy this time. “Thank the Fixer I put in your water. It’s the stuff of miracles. Cleans your blood up and lets things get back to how they should be.”

       She huffed a short laugh, shaking her head as she realized it had been too good to be true. “Thanks.”

       “It’s what we’re here for,” Arcade said with a shrug. “We help people.”

       “What can you tell me about the Legion here?” Calista asked abruptly before realizing it probably wasn’t the greatest question to ask in casual conversation. She added, quickly, “I’m looking for someone very important to me, and I don’t really know what I’m getting into here. I’ve always lived… up North.”

       “How long have they been missing?” Arcade asked uneasily, shifting slightly. “If they haven’t been seen in a while then–”

       Calista leaned forward and cut him off. “It’s my father. He’s… he’s a Legion man. I’ve never known him. Didn’t even fucking know _of_ him until a couple months ago. It’s not so much that he’s missing, it’s that I’ve never known to look for him. Please don’t tell anyone,” she pleaded quickly, her cheeks turning beet red, “I hate the Legion so much for what they did to… to the man that raised me. But I just want to know where I come from. Who my father is. I just need to know.”

       Arcade was silent for several moments, but Calista didn’t move. She listened to the faint sounds of Annie and Beatrix talking to GG, to the muffled crunches of boots on sandy ground, of a radio playing in one of the tents on the far side of the courtyard. So close to the main gates of the Followers’ Fort, she could even hear the merchants outside its walls promoting their goods. Cheap, fresh kebabs. Small knives for defense or utility. Vegetables. Freshly bottled water, brought in from Lake Mead. Repair services. All manner of products and skills at varying prices.

       “I grew up without a father,” Arcade said finally. “I never could have known him; he died when I was still an infant. Everyone hated him for his loyalties too. I suppose I can’t begrudge you wanting to know your own father just as much as I wanted to know mine. But it won’t be easy. Even knowing where he was stationed when you were born won’t necessarily help, what with how much time has passed.”

       “He was at the Fort.”

       “Oh. So either a recruit, or someone actually important. You’re not Caesar’s long-lost-daughter or something, are you?” he asked with a pathetic attempt at a laugh that betrayed his genuine concern.

       Calista smirked. “In the flesh. How’d you guess? Was it the murdering gaze in my eyes? Or the way I don’t take no for an answer?”

       “Well, to be honest, I always wondered if he’d had any children. But no, I suppose it wouldn’t make any difference. Well, that’s one Legionary we can cross off your list of suspects,” he said in a mock-cheery voice. “Only a few thousand to go… Can you be sure he’s… still alive? The war was hard on the Legion. A lot of even the Legion’s best men didn’t make it through the Second Battle for Hoover Dam.”

       A shudder ran through Calista at the thought that all this was for nothing, but she was certain. “No, he’s alive. He was good at what he did.”

       “Well, that narrows it down, at least. Men old enough to be your father who were in the Legion back then and are still alive now are largely considered an elite class in Legion society. Soldiers in the Legion never retire, but the ones that live that long are respected by the younger soldiers more than anyone. Boys want to grow up to be like _them_.”

       Calista slumped in her chair, picking at dead skin on her thumb. “Do you think he might still be there then?”

       “Cal…” Arcade started, his face pinching into concern, “you really might want to reconsider this. Going to the Fort isn’t safe for people that don’t live there. Only gladiators and merchants head that way, and only the gladiators actually go inside. Fort City isn’t as safe as they claim it is, and especially not for women.”

       “I can’t just give up before I’ve even tried,” Calista said exasperatedly. “That’s like butchering a gecko and not bothering to salt it!”

       “At least think about finding someone to go for you. If not that, then to go with you. If you have at least one ally in Fort City when you arrive it’ll help.” Arcade had begun talking with his hands, gesturing wildly as he spoke.

       “Have we missed something?” Beatrix asked the pair, still far enough away that she wouldn’t have overheard them.

       Calista stood quickly, pretending to be annoyed. “Just a lecture meant to keep me from needing his services again,” she scowled over to Beatrix, then turned her head to Arcade – who looked genuinely concerned now – and winked at him. “I thought that when I left home I’d had my last lectures. I guess I was wrong.” With that, she stormed off across the courtyard, back to the tent she’d slept in, hoping very much to look angry enough that they would leave her alone.


	21. The Land of Kings and Dolls (and Slaves)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, still got no excuses for why it takes me so long to update. But I can tell you this chapter pissed me off to no end by going missing for MONTHS and then reappearing. That's legit the only reason I came back to this. It resurfaced and I stopped being angry about everything to do with this fic. I do intend to finish it though. In fact I'm going to work on the next chapter right NOW. =]

“For someone that nobody keeps waiting, this guy sure keeps other people waiting a long while,” Calista grumbled as Jamie, one of the Kings, escorted her back towards the Followers’ fort. He, along with another two Kings, had found her earlier in the morning tucked away in the back of the tent she’d been staying there, and told her that The King wanted to see her. After quite a bit of confusion on the differences between _a_ King, _The_ King, and _the Kings_ , she finally gave up and just followed them back to _The_ King’s School of Impersonation – their headquarters, where they all learned to look, walk, talk, and even sing and dance the same way.

“It’ll be dark soon. I spent the whole damn day sitting there while your friend was busy singing and wiggling. I was going to go get my things from the Tops while Sandy was probably still asleep.” Calista sighed, annoyed that she’d been pushed back another full day. Sorting out everything with GiGi had been taking up too much of her time already – not that it wasn’t for a good cause, at least.

Jamie stopped, grabbing her shoulder. “I can take you there now if, if you still want to go.”

Calista stopped a few steps ahead of him, just far enough for his hand to slip off her shoulder, before turning back around. “Why do you want to go with me? I’m not looking for company.” Dealing with Sandy had been more than enough to make her want to travel alone for the remainder of her journey, or even the remainder of the day. 

He smiled softly, brushing his fingers through his pale hair. “You’re different than folks ‘round here. Besides, you’re not wrong. I suppose I kind of owe you for us taking up your whole day.”

“I don’t know.” Calista crossed her arms over her chest, forcing herself to look him directly in the eye as she spoke. “I’m finding the more I travel the less I like people with me along the way.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna stop you if you’re with a King. They’ll know you’re out of their league. It’s like walking around with a Legionary – only _we’re_ the better looking ones. And more respected.” He winked and grinned. “You take my jacket and wear it for the night while you get your things and no one’s gonna be bothering either of us for a good long while. Call it a mutual favor.”

Calista’s real problem was that she didn’t particularly want anything to do with Jamie. He was nice enough, but the entire “Kingly” persona he wore was grating; he was 100% full power all the time. Leather jacket, fancy hair, strangely bright teeth. It stood out, which was what the Kings wanted of course. It was just too much for her. Still, if he was right and no one bothered her anymore, that would make it worth it. Even if it was just for one evening it would be a welcome change. She sighed, dropping her arms. “We go in, get my things, come back, that’s it. I go back to the Followers and keep on with my own business, you go home and… dance or wiggle or whatever it is you people do. Alright?”

The grin Jamie flashed her could have blinded her if his hair wasn’t already doing it. In an instant he’d placed his jacket around her shoulders and was leading her towards the Strip entrance.

“How are we getting in?” Calista asked, remembering that she didn’t have the money required to enter.

Jamie scoffed, waving the question away like it was nothing. “Easy. Kings get unrestricted access. You’re my guest.” He shoved his fists into his jean pockets and kicked at a pile of gravel as they wandered back the way they’d came. “Besides, the ones on this side of the gate are under our control. If one of them gives us a problem, I’ll get Rocko to reprogram it,” he added with a laugh.

She quirked an eyebrow, chancing a glance toward him. “One of you knows how to work those… things?”

“Course we do! We all know the basic command codes for them, it’s part of the job. Kings used to be just a gang keeping order here, but ever since the Legion took the city we’ve been official. It’s our job to keep the peace, make sure everything runs smooth, smooth, smooth.” Jamie leaned toward her and added, quietly, “course, sometimes we bend the rules a bit. We’re more human than Caesar wants us to be.”

“How so?” Calista asked, now much more interested in what he had to say. With luck she could get some useful information out of him, and anything about how Caesar wanted to run things was useful.

Jamie smirked, “Well, we’ve got a few rules that we’re a little lax about. No booze this side of the gate, no gambling, no loose women – or men. But that would just about kill off the Wrangler. So sometimes we look the other way. They keep things quiet for us, we keep quiet for them. The Atomic Wrangler is a fine establishment for food and drink, with friendly people upstairs and harmless card games downstairs.” He threw her another _atomic_ grin and hooked arms with her as they neared the gate.

Rolling her eyes, Calista suppressed the urge to vomit.

The securitrons didn’t even blink their flickering faces at Calista or Jamie as they went by. Jamie slid the gate open just wide enough for the two of them to slip through, blasting them both with the flashing lights and colors of the Strip, the loud music that had been blocked by the gate instantly hitting her full force. This time, instead of looking at it all in awe, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She didn’t care to have a night on the town again any time soon – if ever.

As soon as she’d stepped through, Jamie slid the gate shut again behind her. “You must have had a bad night here,” he said with a laugh, catching her expression.

Calista shrugged, letting the place wash over her with her gaze uncrippled by Sandy’s presence. While the absence of the stars still unnerved her, there were other things she was even less comfortable to notice. Securitrons rolling up and down the street with large, red Xs painted across their backs and what she could only describe as their shoulders; Legionaries standing guard outside each of the five casinos, machetes hanging almost innocently from their belts; men and women of all kinds already stumbling up and down the street though it was barely even dark out.

As the pair walked, arm in arm, toward the Tops, Calista noticed a smaller building – one that wasn’t lit up the way all the others were. It had no sign explaining what it was, though a single bright spotlight lit up a massive Legion banner as it fluttered in the light breeze.

“So, Jamie,” she asked, leaning towards him slightly and keeping her voice down. “What’s that dark building over there? I didn’t notice it the other night.”

Jamie scoffed, glancing around before he answered her. “It’s basically the local Legion HQ. It’s where Legion men stationed on the Strip stay. There’s an auction house in there too. Slave owners can even kennel their slaves while they’re on the Strip if they want, for a price.” Calista stopped dead, causing Jamie to jerk back, as her arm was still linked with his. “The Kings send all our reports there too, for the Legionaries to look over. Used to be NCR HQ back before the Legion won the Dam.”

“ _There are slaves here?_ ” Calista whisper-shouted, her eyes filling with rage and disgust.

Jamie shrugged, though the forced ambiguity in his face did little to hide his real thoughts. “It’s the way things are here. Been like that since the Dam. I don’t even remember the place without them really, I was about 7 when it happened.”

She shuddered, trying to push the thought out of her mind. “Come on,” she muttered, pulling him toward the Tops as quickly as she could. But now that she’d thought about it, she couldn’t help but wonder who was free here and who was a slave. The more she thought about it, the more Calista wondered if being sold was the only thing that made one a slave in this place. Having felt firsthand the effects of it, she was starting to understand exactly what the meaning of ‘vice’ really was.

Once inside the Tops, Jamie waved to the man at the desk. Apparently they knew each other.

“Hey-o James,” the man said, coming out from behind the counter to shake his hand. “Long time no see. What can we do for you?”

“The lovely miss here wants to pick up her things,” Jamie said, flashing the man his classic smile. “She was staying with a friend by the name of…” he turned to look at Calista, a question in his expression.

“Sandy,” Calista supplied. “Last I knew she was plastering herself up against some older guy in a suit.”

“Oh! You mean Swank’s new girl?  She said her friend had disappeared,” he told them, walking back around behind the counter to find the keys. “She was really worried about you ya know.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Calista rolled her eyes. “Now I just want to get my things and leave.”

“Sure, sure,” the man said, gesturing for her to follow. “Sandy’s moved into the Presidential suite, a- a gift from Swank – so you can just go right on in. Don’t worry about paying for the room, Swank’s told us to give you a full refund. So you’ll be getting a good pile of caps back anyway.”

Shrugging, Calista followed. Moments later, her things were packed and she and Jamie were back out on the street in front of the Tops again. Jamie smoothed back his hair and lit a cigarette for himself, offering one to her as well. She shook her head, shifting the weight of her pack on her shoulder. Jamie, for the second time, tried to take it from her to carry himself, but again she just shook her head. She didn’t want nor need his help.

“Cal!”  came an all-too-familiar voice from across the street. She groaned inwardly as Sandy clattered across the pavement towards her with a wide grin on her face, drink in one hand, sunglasses in the other. “Where have you been? I was worried sick about you! And who’s this? Did you get a boyfriend all on your own? He’s cute but the cute ones are always troublemakers, so watch out.” She winked at Jamie anyway, playfully batting his arm.

“He is _not_ my boyfriend, he just offered to get me back into the Strip so I could get my things. I need to keep going.” Somehow the thought of Jamie being her boyfriend, even as nice as he was, disgusted her. In fact, as she thought more about it, the thought of anyone being her boyfriend disgusted her. The whole concept was rather unappealing.

“Well, maybe it’s better you keep on alone anyway. You’re a tough little girl, you don’t need his help,” Sandy said, grinning. She scooted forward and gave Calista a weak hug, quietly adding, “but if you ever need some help, just send us a note. Swanky’s got connections. He can get you out of anything.”

Somehow Calista wasn’t sure that what she was walking into was going to be something _anyone_ could get her out of, but it was kind of her to offer, at any rate. She hesitantly patted Sandy on the back in a half-hearted hug that she didn’t particularly want to give. “Thanks.”

Sandy stood back and put her hands – more her fingertips, as her hands were already full – on Calista’s shoulders, face suddenly serious. “I hope you find him. I really do. I hope you find him and he’s everything you could hope for and more.”

Without giving her time to respond, Sandy broke back into her trademark smile and grabbed onto Swank’s arm, pulling him along behind her with a giggle as she jogged back towards the Tops. “Good seeing you again, doll!” he called over his shoulder.

Calista gritted her teeth. “I really hate being called that.”


	22. Market Day

Arcade looked like he had seen better days. He looked like he’d seen better days several years ago, in a dream, once, and had long since forgotten what they looked like. There were dark circles under his eyes, and Calista was certain that the blonde of his hair had lightened to a whiter color since she’d last seen him – but that could just have been from the sun.

“I can’t blame you,” he started, settling down into a chair inside her tent, “but I really wish you hadn’t made them think I upset you. They haven’t let off me since.”

“Sorry,” Calista said, actually somewhat feeling it when she heard the exhaustion in his voice. “I panicked. I didn’t want them to know what we were talking about. It was the first thing that came to me.”

“Has lying always been this easy for you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Calista wrinkled her nose. “Let’s just call it a natural gift. I hate lying. It tends to make me feel sick. But I’ve got enough to hide that it’s a necessity at times.” She hated how true it appeared to be. She didn’t want to hide her heritage. She didn’t want to hide her culture. She didn’t want to hide _anything_. But more than any of that, she wanted to find her father.

Arcade’s eyebrow receded farther into his hairline, but he didn’t question her on it. “I asked around and I found someone that might be willing to help you. With going there. To the place I don’t think you should go to,” Arcade rambled, looking around before apparently realizing they were in a tent and if anyone was outside listening he wouldn’t see them anyway. “But you have to go talk to him first.”

“And who are we talking about?” Calista asked, suddenly much more interested.

Arcade moved to sit next to her on the bed, speaking quietly. “There’s a fighter, down in the Thorn. His name’s Rayner. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Why’s he want to go to the… the place?” Calista cut herself off quickly before mentioning the name of that place. “What’s in it for him?” Everyone had to have a motive.

“He’s a fighter,” Arcade repeated. “He’s looking for somewhere to fight stronger opponents. The only reason I even know him is because he comes here all the time to get fixed up.”

Calista just had to guess that there was somewhere in Fort City that would accommodate this want to fight that the guy apparently had. It made sense. Joshua had mentioned events that had happened in an arena there before. The Fort transforming into a real city probably didn’t mean the destruction of a staple of its… ‘entertainment.’ “Where do I find him?”

Arcade laughed, getting back up and moving to the tentflap. “At the Thorn. Ask for him and say I sent you. Tonight.” He left, walking out across the courtyard quicker than she could easily catch up to him.

“But… Where the fuck is the Thorn?”

 

* * *

 

“Hey! It’s Jamie’s doll!”

Calista’s eye twitched a little when this King called her ‘doll,’ but she kept her mouth shut.

“Come on in sister, we’ll find you your beau,” he said, ushering her inside. “It’s Jamie’s doll! Somebody go find that hound dog for her!” Another one of the kings jogged off behind the main desk and down the dingy hallway behind it, presumably to find who appeared to be the only blonde King in the building. It didn’t take long, and to her surprise none of the other Kings really bothered her while she waited, instead just chatting amongst themselves. Maybe there’d been some truth in what he’d told her – that it would be good for both of them if they were seen together.

After a few minutes, he came – rather nonchalantly – into the lobby of the building, slipping a coy smile onto his face as he looked up at her. Frankly, she found it rather disgusting, but she went with it, and looped her arm would his before she dragged him outside.

“I need a favor.”

“Shoot.”

Calista raised her eyebrows. That was it? No requests, no questions? “Two favors, actually. First, get everyone to stop calling me doll before I punch someone.”

Jamie laughed wrapping an arm around her shoulder in a half-hug as they walked down the street in the general direction of the Followers’ Fort. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “They think we’re a couple now. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me since I joined these guys. But I’ll see what I can do.” He dropped the arm, letting her steer him toward the general direction of the market area. It was crowded today, louder than usual; there even seemed to be a greater number of stalls than there had been the previous few days.

“Good. Also I need you to take me to the Thorn.” She muttered it quickly, not looking at him as she spoke. There were plenty of booths to stare at anyway. One selling a variety of beads and handmade jewelry caught her eye. It had been some time since she’d added something to the leather hair wrap she normally wore, but since she was wearing it on her arm to avoid showing her tribal roots it didn’t seem critical to add to it any time.

“You what?”

A woman at a nearby market table shouted for them to buy her fish, the only fish this side of the Dam. “ _Fresh caught in the early morning and brought here every day!_ ” The sight of them made Calista laugh – they were puny, deformed things. Some had extra heads, some looked like they’d been dead for weeks when they were ‘caught.’

“Those are sad excuses for fish,” Calista told Jamie, leaning toward him. “I wouldn’t trust them.”

“No, hold on. Where do you want me to take you?” Jamie stopped walking grabbing her wrist so she couldn’t keep going like she hadn’t said anything.

“The Thorn?” she muttered, half smiling. “I have someone I have to meet there.” She spotted a booth surrounded by little scrap-metal cages, each filled with a very large, hairy spider. A man with a wild eye held up one of the cages, the creature inside hissing and spitting violently. “What the fuck do people do with those?” she asked, gesturing with a nod.

“ _Who?_ ” Jamie asked, eyes wide with concern as he ignored her question. “It’s not a nice place. Anyone who wants to meet you there isn’t the type of person you ought to be meeting there.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have to meet a guy that fights there. It’s pre-arranged, it’s fine. I trust it.” Calista turned to the fish woman, who was still shouting at them, waving putrid little fish corpses in their direction. “Thank you but _NO_ ,” she shouted back to the woman with a firm glare. “I caught bigger fish than that when I was _five._ ” The woman looked insulted, but just started shouting to other passers-by instead.

Giving her a concerned look, Jamie asked, “you gonna tell me why?” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“No.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he said with a sigh. “So, no.”

“What?!” Calista shouted, starting to get angry. Before she could say anything, Jamie was pulling her to the side to allow a small pack of Legion guards to pass through. They easily parted the crowd without even attempting, polished machetes resting at their sides. One wore a thick metal contraption over his fist as well, leading the group. No one seemed concerned by their presence, but everyone seemed to give them a wide berth none-the-less.

A whistle came from a man at the booth they were closest to. “Say…” he dragged out the word and let it linger, “nice pistol, lady. I’ll give you 1500caps for it. Or 375denarii, I’m not picky.”

Calista looked down at the pistol on her leg briefly, then shook her head. “Sentimental value,” she muttered by way of excuse as they began to move away, then turned back to Jamie. “You know, this is a terrible place to have a conversation.”

“I’m _not_ bringing you!” Jamie said, stopping and shaking her by the shoulders. “That place isn’t safe. It’s damn a fight pit with alcohol and bets! Who set this up for you, anyway? Some shady ghoul or something?”

She frowned, her brow furrowed at the way he’d said ‘ghoul.’ “What’s wrong with ghouls?” she said, a sharp snap to her tone. “I happen to have several friends who are ghouls.” Well, a handful of acquaintances she didn’t seem to dislike, anyway.

Jamie rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Nevermind that. Why the Thorn?”

“Because that’s where the guy spends all his time,” Calista said, rolling her eyes in turn. “That’s like asking _why meet a medic at the Followers’ Fort_? Because that’s where they are.”

“Medics don’t kill people for a living!” Jamie waved his hands up and down in exasperation. “They do the opposite!” Even his blonde hair was flustered, shaking out of place. Calista bit her fingernail, then casually pointed to his hair before quickly going back to chewing on the nail. Instantly Jamie pulled out a comb and started smoothing it back into place, seemingly distracted for the moment.

“I’m going whether or not you show me how to get there,” Calista said, keeping her voice quiet. “By the way you’re talking about it, I can ask any asshole how to get there and he’ll either point me to it or get me mugged. The choice is yours. Are you gonna let me get mugged? Or are you going to show me?” It wasn’t fair, but it was entirely true.

It took several moments for Jamie to form a response. She eyed another booth, this one selling spikes to put on the backs of boots. They appeared to offer premade pairs as well as a way to fix them to your own shoes – a task which one of the booth’s workers was busily working at for someone as she watched. Glancing down at her own boots, she wondered for a moment just how much the spikes cost.

“Well, I guess I’d better take you then,” Jamie huffed in defeat. “It’s better than you going alone. When?”

Calista glanced around before responding. “Tonight,” she said, and started walking through the crowd away from him. Several people brushed shoulders with her as she pushed past. “Why is it so busy here today?”

“Tonight?!” Jamie ignored the question altogether, again, as he chased after her. It seemed to take a moment for his feet and his brain to agree to work together on it though, and she got a good distance down the street before he caught back up to her. “Tonight?” he asked again.

Calista just nodded. “As soon as you can, really. Though I don’t know when he’ll be there.”

Shaking his head, Jamie sighed. “Well, at least we can wait at the bar.”

Calista groaned, not wanting anything to do with alcohol again for a very long time. “As long as you promise not to buy me any drinks. Ever, for that matter.”

“You really don’t like me, do you?”

“It’s not you. I don’t like anyone.” Saying it out loud made her really think about it. She never really was attracted to anyone, even people who she considered attractive. The concept made her frown. It didn’t seem to make any sense that she’d find people attractive but not be attracted to them. Wasn’t that the whole point? She shook her head clear, pushing the thought away for the moment. “Not the way I think you mean, at least. But I meant that I don’t ever want to drink again, more than anything else.”

Now that she was thinking about things, Calista realized something about what he’d said. “Wait, while _we_ wait?”

“Oh no, I’m not taking you there and just leaving you,” Jamie said, raising his voice a little. “No way d—”

Calista clamped a hand over his mouth, closing her eyes and breathing deep. “Don’t say it.” Slowly, and with a very pointed glare, she let go of him. He looked a bit annoyed, but at that point Calista didn’t really care.

“Alright,” he continued, audibly frustrated. “Now we need to set this straight. I’ll take you, we’ll wait together, and only when I see who you’re waiting for will I decide whether or not to leave you alone with him.” Jamie crossed his arms coldly.

It was getting ridiculous and Calista threw her arms up over her head. “Has it occurred to you that it might be a private conversation?”

“Yes.”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

On the one hand, Calista appreciated his honesty. On the other, she wanted to punch him now. “This is why I don’t travel with people,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just want to talk to people and it’s a hassle somehow.” She took a deep breath, looking back at Jamie. “Look,” she said, trying to restore her tone to normal, “I have places to go and people to meet, quite literally. This guy is going to help arrange that. That’s all.”

He looked at her incredulously, grabbing a small child by the arm as he tried to zoom by. “No running,” he muttered to the kid before letting go of him, but the child just kept on running anyway. Jamie didn’t seem to notice. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’ve got a pre-arranged meeting with someone to discuss trying to meet with someone?” Jamie raised both eyebrows in concern. “That sounds like you’re getting a little deeper in than you probably should, you know.”

He was right, Calista knew. But who was to say that he was someone she could trust with her story? He didn’t seem to have much against the Legion, but for all she knew he worked with them. Apparently the Kings did as a group, to some extent. It might be safer to talk to him about the Legion, if that was the case, but she still wasn’t at all comfortable enough to go there with him.

“Maybe. But it’s what I have to do.”

Jamie sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t like it. But I’ll do it. You’re really crazy, you know that, right? And what do I call you, anyway? I can’t call you doll, apparently. Girl? Lady? Sweets?”

Calista rolled her eyes as dramatically as she possibly could. “Most people call me _Cal_ ,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth. “Why does there have to be some term of endearment with it? Why can’t people just call me by my name?”

He shrugged. “Maybe some people just want to be friendly.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “I’m not good at friendly lately.”

“Enjoy the market. It’s tax-free day. Always more vendors out. It’s only once a month,” he said, gesturing around. “I’ll pick you up around sunset.”

 


	23. What Lies Beneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could use a little more work, and I know I'm struggling at holding down Jamie's voice from even line to line, but pressing onward... I'm going to be doing some heavy world building chapters for a little while as we head into the next part of this section. I'm sorry if it's a lot to digest, between all the new characters and places I'm trying to find ways to keep things balanced! Please let me know if there's something you think needs to be explored or explained more! I know this city inside out the way I've had it build up in the years since Hoover Damn 2, but I know that's just me. Next chapter should explain more. It's a growing city all around.

The Thorn, Calista found out eventually – though only by process of elimination, was located somewhere in Westside. This was most easily deduced by the fact that they went past the entrance to the Strip and kept going, westward. The only thing that way was Westside.

Westside was… well, she wouldn’t say it was in good shape. The buildings were actually more intact somehow, but nothing seemed to be in them. None of the shop fronts were lit up like they were in Freeside, no one walked up and down the streets. Jamie and Cal were the only people moving in sight, though she saw the eyes of a little boy watching them from a second-story window. It didn’t have any signs of life, not even a pulse. Only garbage littering the streets, graffiti and debris forming the foundation of a less than memorable experience.

“That’s it,” Jamie said, pointing to a crudely constructed sign down the street ahead of them. “It’s underground. There’s a hatch and a ladder to go down. I’ll go down first so I can help you.” The whole thing looked like it could topple down at any moment.

Calista was about to snark at him about how she could climb a ladder on her own, thanks, when she noticed something odd. The sign for the Thorn looked very haphazardly cobbled together, which in itself was strange for Freeside and the Strip. The letter R was, somewhat cleverly, also an arrow pointing down, presumably to where the entrance was. It was somewhat hard to see, lit only by the light of a barrel fire, but the truly strange thing was that beside it she could see someone standing with their hands in their pockets.

“Who is that?” she asked Jamie, squinting. “A guard or something?”

“Nah, the place doesn’t have guards anymore, not for years. This district is sort of abandoned. Actually, that looks like Arcade,” he said raising his eyebrows.

Jamie wasn’t wrong; the man was extremely tall, wore glasses and a lab coat, and had shockingly light hair. Only, that didn’t make any sense, because if he was going to go to the Thorn with her it would have made quite a lot of sense for him to say so in the first place. Then she wouldn’t have had to involve Jamie at all, and could have avoided any potential issues like him hearing her story.

But as they drew closer, it became clearer and clearer that it was definitely Arcade.

“Hi,” Arcade said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He looked like he’d been standing around for a while, maybe even waiting for her to show up.

Jamie smiled, starting to return the greeting, but Calista cut him off.

“Why didn’t you say you were gonna be here?” she growled. “If you’d said, I would have just followed you.” This whole catastrophe-in-motion could have been avoided if only they had been able to work this out _before_ Cal had decided she needed to find her own way to get to the Thorn. If Arcade hadn’t gotten cold feet and scampered away before even telling her where the place was.

“He’s your connection?” Jamie said, starting to laugh. “The guy setting you up to meet with a guy?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, shoving him by the arm, but Jamie couldn’t stop laughing. He doubled over, wrapping his arms around his sides as his eyes squinted shut.

“I uh… forgot to mention it,” Arcade said, face reddening. “Sorry.”

Calista swore, pushing her face into her hands. “Sorry? That’s it?”

“Let’s just get inside,” Arcade mumbled, lifting the hatch and gesturing for her to head down. At least he seemed aware that she wasn’t a useless teacup of a woman, and that made her just a little less angry with him. That didn’t mean either he or Jamie were in a great situation with her, though.

She carefully lowered herself into the hole and down the old iron ladder, trying not to think about what exactly it was that made the rungs so sticky. As soon as she was down at the bottom, she brushed her hands off on her pantlegs and stepped out of the way for Jamie to make his way down after her. The tunnel was dark, barely lit by small lights placed every 10 feet. The place instantly set her on edge, making her already frayed nerves sizzle more. She was too big for this tiny place, and the addition of two more bodies didn’t help.

Swallowing nervously, Calista asked, “the whole place isn’t like this, is it?”

Jamie laughed, the sound booming as it reverberated through the tunnel. “Course not. We still gotta get there!”

Arcade frowned at him, plodding forward with a muttered, “come on.” He lead them down into the better lit section of the tunnel, moving quickly. The fast steps were a little difficult for even Calista with her long legs to keep up with, but she didn’t complain. The sooner they were out of the tunnel, in which Arcade had to stoop in to not bash his head into the ceiling, the happier they both would be. Luckily, it was only a moment before they were pushing through an old door and into the actual Thorn itself.

To her surprise, the place they stepped into wasn’t a tunnel of any type, but a massive cistern.  It looked like parts had been opened up that weren’t originally part of the cistern, expanded into and built up to make the space more functional for what it had become. The part they had walked into was a landing on a stairway. Heading upward would lead them up to a bar, and down would lead to what she presumed to be the fighting pit, fenced off with a wire fence that buzzed and faintly glowed.

Without a word, Arcade lead them upward.

The bar was small, and crowded, but most of the patrons were lined up against the edge of the balcony that looked over the arena. There was one table left with a view, and they all silently agreed on it. When they had all sat down around it, Arcade gave a nod down towards the arena. “That’s him.”

“You’re meeting with _Rayner?_ ” Jamie asked, starting to laugh again, though his face suggested he didn’t find the whole of the situation to be amusing at all. “You’re meeting with the best fighter in New Vegas about going somewhere? The only places he sends people are medic tents and into hell itself…”

The way he cut off his sentence made Calista pretty sure he’d almost called her Doll again, but she let it slide. Still, she hushed him with a light smack on the arm, leaning over to see better.

There was a man sitting on a chair in the middle of a raised, fenced off platform, a hood up over his face. It wasn’t much of a view, really. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles to match. For all anyone could tell he could have been asleep, except his fingers occasionally drummed along his arm. No one approached him.

“What does he do? Just sit there?” Now that Calista had a good look at it, the platform wasn’t actually in the pit with the electrified fence, but outside it, surrounded by more tables. There were plenty of men down there, some drinking, others playing cards. A few even leaned on the side of the platform – by the look of them, they were fighters too – and chatted lazily.

“He waits for challengers,” Jamie explained. “He’ll sit there until someone decides they wanna to throw punches. Most people have stopped trying. He never loses. That’s why this place is dying, they’re all bored of it.” He shook his head. “If some of the Kings got a hold of this place, we’d shake it back up again, but that death-trap would have to go.”

Arcade shifted uncomfortably, polishing his glasses with the end of his lab coat. “I’ll take a look around down there and say hi. Let him know you’re here. Er, we’re here.” Arcade scrambled up, adding a muttered “whatever.”

Jamie grinned, looking Calista over. “You’re some kind of woman, Cal. You waltz into the biggest city this side of the NCR and look at it like it’s garbage, tell everyone they’re gonna help but won’t say with what, then expect an underground celebrity to do the same just because you want him to. And you don’t even look like you expect him to say something other than yes. But somehow you’re not an ass about it, so everyone likes you. You’re genuine, you dig?”

It was the nicest thing anyone outside of Dead Horse Point had said to her so far, and it made her unsure exactly how to respond. The easiest way, she decided, was the truth. “Where I’m from,” she said, slowly, thinking out her words this time, “we don’t really think about the idea that we can choose to not help someone when they ask. If someone asks for help, you help them. If they didn’t need it, they wouldn’t ask. I guess I’m just used to asking. And getting what I ask for.”

“It doesn’t even occur to you that someone’ll say no?” Jamie asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

With the moment thoroughly over for her, Calista scowled. “It does now. Rather often, actually. I just don’t care. I’ll get where I need to some way or another.” She stared back down over the balcony to see Arcade approaching the man on the platform, apparently named Rayner, with his arms held up in mock surrender. Rayner lazily got to his feet, his teeth flashing a grin from beneath the hood. Arcade towered over him, but the man’s arms were easily as thick as Arcade’s legs. Even at the distance she was from him, she could see he was powerfully muscled.

Rayner gave him a quick, one-armed embrace before resting a hand on Arcade’s shoulder as they walked from the platform and down the few short steps to the lower barroom floor. At one point, somewhere on the main stairs to the upper level where Calista waited for them, she was fairly sure she heard the fighter burst out into a short-lived fit of laughter.

In the dark, sputtered light of the room, the pair of men looked imposing as they waded through the small sea of tables towards them. Arcade, impossibly tall with his shock of white-blond hair, face set in stone and brow furrowed while he surveyed the room in silence – hands shoved in the pockets of his lab coat. Rayner, face shadowed, arms showing muscle even through the long sleeves of his unzipped hooded sweatshirt, rippling abs and bloodied, bandaged fingers. If she hadn’t already known that Arcade was a giant, lovable dork, she would have been very concerned. Not knowing a thing about Rayner left her uneasy still, regardless of what Arcade had to say about him.

Arcade settled back into his chair with his usual lack of grace, signaling the barman across the room with four fingers. Rayner, however, had an entirely different body language.  He spun his chair around backwards and sat with his arms resting on its back, sitting his chin on his crossed forearms. He seemed the kind of man that knew exactly what every muscle in his body was doing, and moved each one with precision, the kind that reacted with both body and mind working in perfect unison. To her discomfort, Rayner appeared to be sizing her up just as blatantly as she was him. All at the table were silent. The barman set four bottles down in the center of the table – surprising her with Nuka-Cola rather than alcohol.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Rayner asked, his voice quiet and gravelly like he gargled daily with broken glass and rusty nails. He pointed a finger at her as he spoke, somehow not quite accusing in movement or tone despite the words.

Calista raised an eyebrow, refusing to respond with a verbal answer.

After a moment, Rayner huffed a laugh and reached for a soda. “I suppose I can’t say too much, no. But going into Fort City, on your own, without a cock between your legs, is suicide.” Beside him, Arcade choked on is drink, violently rubbing at his nose. “What in the name of fuck could be there that you can’t find here in New Vegas?”

The moment of truth. Did she trust Rayner? Jamie? Arcade already knew some of the details of her plight. It was a story she was getting tired of telling, and even more tired of hiding. “Fuck it,” she muttered, then spoke up just enough for the men at the table to hear her. “I’m looking for someone.”

“This better not be no boyfriend Legion whelp,” Rayner growled. “I don’t want to get into that.”

“It’s not.”

“Good. But you’re still out of luck, because Eaton down there won’t help.” Rayner drank down a splash of cola before continuing, the bottle falling back to the table with a clank that made some of the gathered crowd look up. They’d noticed he’d come upstairs, and all watched him with interested faces. “Says he did his bit for the Legion and ain’t going back long enough to spit at ‘em.”

Jamie shifted uncomfortably on Calista’s other side, but she ignored him. The crowd was still watching them with a heavy gaze. It brought to mind memories of Joshua watching her talking with Falling Waters back home, and how he always knew what she’d said by the shape of her words on her lips. That thought still in mind, she gritted her teeth as she spoke, trying to hide the words. “I don’t really care if he wants to help or not. There’s goddamn roads, it can’t be that hard.”

It was a fair point, she knew, and evidently Rayner agreed with her. He laughed, a full on howled cackle with his head tipped back and everything. The chair he sat in tipped back slightly, slamming back down hard enough that everyone watching them jumped and went back to their own conversations. “It’s not the road that I’m thinking about, little girl.” The words made her blood bloil.

“Alright,” he continued, taking in her reddening face and narrowed eyes. “Alright, you want to head out with the clothes on your back and the gun at your side, nothing more? Desert road ain’t so soft, you know.”

“Then bring a pillow,” Calista snarled, rolling her eyes. “I grew up in a canyon and started slaughtering my own lunch by the time I was 14. With an axe. The gun’s more for show than anything. If the desert’s not soft then I’m not either.” She let the words sink in with the head of her axe as she dropped it blade-first into the table. It stuck in the old, beer-soaked wood with ease.

This brought another laugh from Rayner, which prompted Arcade to speak. “If I didn’t think she could handle the trip I wouldn’t have come here with her. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, nodding as he spoke up finally. “She just needs someone to do the talking for her.”

“Fuck knows I’m not the best talker in the wastes, not even in Westside. But I can make up for that in other ways too,” he said, nodding as well. He flipped back his hood, finally revealing his face as he stared down at the table with raise brows. “Alright, little axe-girl. Just because Eaton won’t take me there doesn’t mean he can’t tell me what to do when I get there meself.” He stood, legs still straddling the chair, and held out a hand to her.

Calista rose to her feet as well, clasping his forearm. He grinned, doing the same. It gave her a chance to look him over finally. His face was a little bent out of shape, probably from fights past. He’d broken at least his nose and one cheekbone, and the deep set of his bloodshot eyes – one brown, one a speckled blue – suggested both sleep deprivation and eye injuries. From this new angle, she noticed he was missing at least one full tooth, and a few others were chipped. Even one of his ears had a scar running across it. All around, he looked like a battered old dog, complete with scruffy hair and beard.

“Rayner,” he added, finally introducing himself with a nod, still gripping her arm.

“Calista.” She squeezed in recognition of his introduction, then let go. His hand fell away as well.

“Now just one little problem,” Rayner added, his eyes landing back on the floor again as he spoke louder. The whole of the room looked up and quieted. “I’ve still got a whole damn month left on my contract with this place,” he said, voice low, before shouting, “AND NONE OF THESE _FUCKING LITTLE SHITS_ WILL TAKE A SWING AT ME.” He held his arms out wide in an open challenge.

No one took him up on the offer.

“So,” he went back to a pleasant tone, almost cheery, “come back in 29 days. Alright? 29 days, little axe-girl. Then we’ll talk.” He walked away, back toward the stairs down, without so much as a word of parting, stalking back down to the floor below.

With a careful yank Calista pulled her tomahawk free of the table and slipped it back to her side. “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered, but Jamie pulled her back down to her chair. She was about to complain when Arcade cut her off.

“No, he’s right. Let it calm down first and go back to ignoring everything. Like what Rayner might want with you.” He smiled weakly, then shut himself up with his Nuka.

The thought of the sweet, sticky drink made her nearly gag, but her throat was dry enough she’d drink almost anything. To her surprise, it was impossibly cold, and oddly refreshing. “Fine,” she mumbled, not looking at either of them. With luck, she figured, they would just pretend nothing had happened and they could go back to ignoring the topic of her going to the Fort. Not that luck was on her side all that often when it came to talking.

A month. A whole _month._ What would she do for that long? It wasn’t as though she had the resources to keep herself comfortable in a city for that long. Sure the water was free here, but that didn’t help her eat – and no animals but tamed ones neared the city limits. If she was going to hunt she’d have to go at least a day’s journey back away from it, and that meant worrying about water again. If she had to choose between food and water, she’d pick water every time of course, but this meant she would have to do odd jobs for caps, or continue to deplete her caps stash. She flat out refused to keep living off the charity of the Followers of the Apocalypse, regardless.

“Well,” Arcade said, “that went… Well?” He tried to smile, but it didn’t really work.

Calista huffed a laugh and shook her head. “If ‘well’ is anything other than outright ‘no.’”

“It is,” Jamie said, nodding slowly. “Why in the name of fuck do you want to go there?”

“She already said she was looking for someone," Arcade said, cutting Calista off before she could respond. “If she wasn’t inclined to explain it to her potential travelling companion, I doubt she’d be inclined to explain it to you.” Ignoring Jamie’s shocked expression, he continued to Calista. “Now we just need to figure out what to do with you for the next few weeks.”

“Well that’s easy,” said a new but familiar voice, as Beatrix sat herself down in the chair Rayner had vacated. “She can stay with me.”

Jamie’s nose wrinkled as he looked her over. “Oh don’t give me that,” she said with a forced laugh. “I remember when you were small enough to shit yourself eight times a day. You weren’t pretty then either.”

That brought a smile to Calista’s face, though at Jamie’s mortified expression she tried to stifle her laugh.

“I take it you overheard?” Arcade asked, sighing.

“The whole bar overheard,” Beatrix laughed. “Rayner’s not exactly quiet about things. But honestly I don’t care what you’re up to, Cal. If you don’t mind spending some time in the Rot, I’d be happy to lend you my couch. God knows it’s better than the cot you’ve been sleeping on.”

“The Rot?” Jamie asked, again cutting Calista off before she could start. The trend in the conversation was rapidly growing annoying. “You can’t be serious. She can’t stay in there, she’s not… she’s not…”

“What, rotting? It’s called the Rot for a reason, you can come out and say it. Us ghouls have sort of noticed what’s happened to us, you know.” Beatrix rolled her eyes at him. “Only thing we’d need to do is get her a steady supply of Rad-X.”

Calista held her hands up in a T-shape. “Hold on, will someone tell me what The Rot is?”

“You need a crash course on New Vegas, girlie,” Beatrix said, then held her hand up for the barman to bring another round. This time he brought beer, but Arcade muttered some quick words, and Calista’s was exchanged for another Nuka-Cola. It was nice of him, but she still had barely even started on the first one.

“You see,” Beatrix began, stretching out comfortably and leaning back in her chair, “New Vegas is made up of a bunch of districts. The Strip and Freeside are the oldest two. Back when House started this whole crazy town, he made it so you had to prove you had the money to spend to get onto the Strip. Mostly so you could spend it and make him richer. He was an old pre-war nutjob that kept himself alive in a tube and lived his life through robots and screens and cameras. Being on the Strip meant you had money. Freeside? Well. It was free. Meant you had somewhere you could go after you lost everything gambling and drinking and fucking yourself broke.”

Arcade promptly choked on his drink for the second time of the evening.

Unfazed by this, Beatrix continued. “It wasn’t until Freeside started getting big that it split into Freeside and Westside. _This_ is Westside; we’re under it. It’s a bit of a shithole now, but it was always a shithole. The place has some good solid buildings, but it had some real scummy people. Raiders liked to pick on the place, and eventually it was more of them living there than anyone else. Now, if the rumors are true – and I’m inclined to believe they are, most of the residents are ex-Legion men. Eaton doesn’t find men out of nowhere that know how to fight like dogs. City guard’s so disgusted with them they just pretend the place doesn’t exist, and the Kings don’t seem to give a damn either way.”

Everyone looked to Jamie at this. Though obviously still annoyed, he shrugged and nodded. “Doesn’t matter to us. Just as long as nobody makes trouble.”

“Then there’s the Rot.” Beatrix waggled her hairless brows at Jamie and wiggled her fingers at him. “Filled with spooky, scary ghouls… _BOO!_ ” Much to Jamie’s obvious chagrin, he _did_ jump when she said ‘boo,’ and she roared with cackling laughter. “There’s a lot of shitty people out there that don’t like us ghouls, for one reason or another. Some say it’s cause we’re so old. _Zombies that should have died during the war like everyone else above ground did._ Not our fault we survived, and half of us that did jumped off bridges when this started happening.” She held up one arm and pointed to the mottled, cracked skin.

The more Calista looked at it, the more it reminded her of Joshua’s skin. Hidden beneath layer upon layer of gauze were similar skin problems. Chronic dryness, discoloration, uneven texture, nerve damage. He had next to no ability to sweat, so his skin was always hot. She wondered, briefly, if ghouls suffered that problem as well. “It’s skin. What does it matter what it looks like?” Calista asked, though it ended flat like a statement instead of like a question. Jamie shifted uneasily in his seat, and quickly stuffed his beer back in his mouth.

“It shouldn’t,” Beatrix said with an approving nod. “But for a lot of people it does. You should have seen things back before the war… But I’ve done well enough forgetting those days, may as well leave them forgotten. Annie will tell you more about that if you ask her. She’s the one that writes everything down, anyway.”

“I gotta get back,” Jamie said, finishing his beer and throwing a handful of caps on the table. “Good seeing you, Arcade, Cal.” He looked at Beatrix quickly, eyes darting around the room, then added a rushed, “ma’am,” before scampering for the door.

“Prick,” Beatrix muttered, eyes narrowed as she watched him go. “He tries not to be, but he was raised to hate us. Most people are these days. Ghouls aint trusted. That’s something you need to keep in mind before you decide for sure if you want to stay with me.”

“I want to stay with you,” Calista said, not even hesitating for a moment. “I want to stay with you even more now than I did before. You’re just people. Being a ghoul shouldn’t change the way people look at you.”

Beatrix laughed again, shaking her head. “Cal, you got a real funny choice of words sometimes. But you’re my kind of alright.”

She wasn’t sure exactly why, but the words made Calista glow.


	24. Welcome to The Rot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - thought this chapter would be shorter than it turned out!

After Arcade had stuffed Calista’s pack full of Rad-X and given her the first dose, she followed Beatrix past the Followers’ fort to the East. Beatrix explained as they walked how the gate there had once lead out of Freeside and into the open wastes, but now lead to The Rot. There was a guard watching this gate to keep troublemakers out at every hour of the day. At that time, it was Charon – who Beatrix promised to tell her more about. The positively massive ghoul was the only person Calista had ever seen who was even taller than Arcade.

If she had been curious about Charon before though, she quickly forgot it as soon as she entered the Rot. It opened up both to the left and right of the gate, with buildings on all sides. The road in front of her was lit by a barrel fire, sparking up into the night sky, as well as by the constant glow of the New Vegas Strip not far away. It didn’t loom over this part of the city quite as much, as it was the furthest from the tall buildings and bright lights, but it was impossible to escape them completely while still so close.

As her eyes adjusted to the lower light level and the contrast of the bright fire to the dark world, she noticed splashes of color appearing. A rich, vibrant green rose from sewer grates in slick puddles and glowing mushrooms. The illuminated sign on a nearby building read “The Foundry Hotel and Casino,” and a smaller, hastily painted sign below it read “and J’s Rad Lounge below.” But whatever that was, she didn’t have time to find out.

Beatrix had already gotten halfway down the street before Calista realized she needed to catch up with her. She jogged after her, promising herself to check out the whole of the district in the morning. As it turned out, Beatrix only lived halfway down the street; by the time Calista caught up, she was opening a door into a stairway heading up to an apartment. She shuddered, trying to ignore the tightness of the space as they went up to the second floor.

Closing her eyes, she thought back to caves she’d played in as a child. If those old stone spaces had held fast, there was no reason for this ceiling to fall in on her either. Even as she repeated this thought to herself over and over, she still had to work not to shake as she stood within the old-world building.

They entered into a small apartment at the top of the stairs. It was simple, three rooms that had obviously once been four - though it was unclear whether the wall had been removed by the war or by Beatrix herself. There was a surprisingly well-furnished living area at the front of the apartment overlooking the street, a small kitchen behind it. At the back were the bathroom and the bedroom. Calista noticed that Beatrix quickly shut the bedroom door before shuffling her over to the couch.

“It ain’t much, but you’re welcome to it. The bathroom fixtures aren’t much to look at either, but they all work. One of the Bright Boys was able to patch all our plumbing into the Legion water and sewer mains – probably the best thing those LARPers brought back was running water.” She collapsed down into a chair by the window, which intriguingly had a rifle leaning up against the remains of the glass.

Calista’s head spun. “Who-da-what now?” she asked, shaking her head. There were moments where being with Beatrix was turning out to be oddly similar to being with Sandy, and in those moments Calista found herself hearing much and understanding little.

“Doesn’t matter,” Beatrix said with a laugh, “just flush the toilet when you’re done with it. That’s all I ask. The lever’s on the side of the tank. It’s a little jerry-rigged, but it works.”

Handily, Sandy had explained toilets properly to her back at the Tops – in what had quite possibly been one of the most awkward conversations of Calista’s life.

Beatrix sighed, shaking her head as she stared out the window. “You’re lucky, you know. Growing up away from all of this. I suppose I did too, but I barely remember that anymore. All this here’s just a faded memory of what we had back then. A shitty faded memory. I remember when the Foundry was built, for real, not this pile of crap. It opened about a week before the war. Never did get to go inside it back then. We always went to the Silver Rush anyway.”

“What is the Foundry?” Calista asked, settling down on the couch and leaning forward, intrigued.

Pointing out the window to its glowing sign, Beatrix began to explain. “That. That’s the Foundry. It’s the Rot’s one and only real source of entertainment. There’s a restaurant, a bar, and a stage. The bar, mind you, doesn’t have alcohol. Booze is only really allowed on the Strip now – not that that stops anyone in Freeside – but it doesn’t do much for us ghouls anyway. We can’t get drunk, though some have dame near killed themselves trying. If we want booze, we just take the tunnels over to the Thorn instead. I’ll show you the place in the morning.” She stood, pushing herself up with the nose of the rifle as a cane. “Get some sleep. Kitchen sink works if you get thirsty. Let the water sit for a minute or so before you drink it, Mojave’s developed a bit of a sediment problem lately.”

With that, she left Calista and all her questions. “I’ll be on the back porch, so just shout for me if you need anything.” Beatrix pushed through a tiny door she hadn’t noticed, between the bedroom and the bathroom, and disappeared.

There was too much running through Calista’s mind. Too much to even straighten it all out. She felt she should sit down and write another letter to Joshua, and even that would be too difficult to write in a way that would make any sense – but if there was one person out there that would understand, or even try to, it would be him. Still, there were enough pages in her pack to write a short letter, and a short one would at least help her sort out her thoughts herself.

She fell asleep with the pen still in hand.

 

* * *

 

As promised, Beatrix brought Calista to the Foundry in the morning. Of course, Calista and Beatrix had very different ideas of just what morning constituted. Beatrix’s idea of morning was much closer to Sandy’s and the sun was already high in the sky when they walked back out onto the Rot’s main street. She’d been tempted to do some exploring on her own, but the morning alone had given her time to think about what she could do over the next few weeks while she waited for Rayner’s contract to be up.

For a start, she wanted to explore the city. Though the looming concrete chilled her blood, she wanted to glean what little she could of the city’s history from its streets. Where people lived before the Legion came and where they lived now, the places that had been abandoned and the places that had been expanded into. The Rot itself was new, so Beatrix told her, and Westside was relatively abandoned and lawless. The didn’t tell her anything about Freeside and the surrounding areas though.

If she was lucky she’d be able to find work for herself. Hunting was her best skill, she knew; maybe one of the vendor stalls would let her hunt fresh meat for them. The only questions then was what was considered acceptable hunting grounds, and what was too close to the city – or if there even were regulations regarding such things. Just because she was looking to find the Legion didn’t mean she wanted them breathing down her neck.

If hunting was out of the question, then it came down to her less used talents, most of which were artistic. Of course she could maintain a blade, but these people all used guns. She could work with leather, she could do beading, but there were only so many things she’d be able to repair or decorate before she ran out of potential work.

That left a serious problem for her to face: running out of caps. She didn’t want to simply rely on the kindness of others, particularly in a place where kindness seemed to be in short stock. Water was evidently free under Legion rule, and she could hunt if she found open hunting grounds she could eat without worry, but finding a place to hunt without trouble could be difficult. It was easy to intrude on claimed hunting grounds without meaning to, and she needed to be sure not to upset anyone in this new place where the lights blotted out the stars in the evening sky and everyone old enough to lift a gun carried one. 

Beatrix, for example, carried a rifle on her back even when they were walking just from her front door to the Foundry – not a minute’s walk away. The streets weren’t by any means crowded, but they weren’t deserted either. It struck Calista instantly that every single person here, aside from herself, was a ghoul. One or two of them she had accepted easily, their skin reminding her of the same problems that Joshua’s skin had. But it wasn’t just one or two. It was quite a few more than that.

“Still sure you want to hang out here girlie?” Beatrix asked, with a grin. “You took your pills this morning, right? This look isn’t exactly in style this season.” She gestured to bare arm with a flourish.

“I just didn’t realize there were so _many_ of you.” Calista tried not to stare at the gathering crowd, which in turn was trying (albeit with less success) not to stare at her. She heard them muttering and whispering. She strained to make out the words, but the gravelly texture of their voices made it impossible – like a dialect she wasn’t familiar with.  

“They’re calling you Smoothskin,” Beatrix said, rolling her eyes. “It’s a term ghouls use to refer to people who are… normal. Sometimes it’s a derogatory term, sometimes it’s a nickname, sometimes it’s an insult.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “It’s just a word in our language now. I don’t know how they mean it today. Come on,” she put a hand on the back of Calista’s shoulder and guided her towards the building. “Let’s get inside. Jason won’t mind you, and he can spread some word about you.”

The Foundry’s front doors were under a curved roof, with a small glowing sign spelling out the name of the place just underneath. One end of the roof shot straight into the sky though, with a much larger sign spelling it out vertically. Atop it, a massive bucket appeared to pour out molten metal, the drips filling in the letters as they lit up one-by-one from the bottom upward. They flashed, then flickered out, then the animation repeated itself again, over and over and over.

Before she had much time to oogle it though, Beatrix had pulled her inside the door and past the front desk where a wide-eyed ghoul watched them in amusement. Beatrix muttered a quick, “hey Jax, here to see the boss,” as they went by.

It was relatively dark inside the place, despite it being broad daylight outside. The high ceilings of the main floor made it feel like a cave. A cave with lights hanging almost haphazard at different heights. The loose bulbs glowed a brilliant yellow-orange, imitating the same molten-metal look the sigh outside had. The floor itself was carpeted in black, though it was dirty and covered in boot-prints and dust from centuries of decay and settling concrete dust. It may as well have been a ruin, which after a moment’s thought, Calista supposed it was.

What stood out the most though was the man behind the counter. He wore a suit, though it was patchy and full of holes, but even this wasn’t what made him stand out. It was the fact that he was flowing as bright as the neon sign outside – only in a fluorescent green.

“So,” Beatrix started, leading her over to the bar where the glowing ghoul was slowly wiping down the counter with a rag, “this is Jason.”

Jason straightened and smiled, extending a hand to her over the bar. “Good evening. It’s nice to see a smoothskin who is willing to set foot in this place. I own the Foundry.”

Calista blinked and focused very hard on not reminding Jason that he was glowing. “Uh. Hi.” She shook his hand, which was hot enough it almost burned her skin. She jumped slightly, but didn’t yank her hand away.

“My apologies,” Jason said, inclining his head toward her. “I forget that others are not used to such heat as my body radiates. It is rare for me to meet someone new here, especially so for one of your kind.”

“This is Cal,” Beatrix said to Jason. “She’s the one I told you about that brought us GG.”

“Ah,” Jason nodded his acknowledgement. “We are indebted to you, then,” he said, turning back to Calista. “It was a great kindness that you sheltered her. Few in this world would have done so.”

“She’s just a kid,” Cal said, not wanting to know what kind of person would leave a child to die alone in the desert.

“She is another mouth to feed,” Jason countered, “and you gave her more than food and comfort. You gave her medical aid as well, though it may or may not have done any good. I have yet to hear from Annie on the subject.” His speech sounded so formal to Calista’s ears that Annie’s name stood out like a foreign word. “Perhaps Miss Keeley will have some input on the subject as well.”

Cal twitched the pad of her thumb along the edges of her fingernails and shrugged. She was having trouble keeping her mind on the conversation as She watched the colors in Jason’s face slowly bubble and shift from lighter to darker shades and back. His red-blooded veins formed dark lines in the everchanging color-pool, standing out.

Jason smiled warmly, the corners of his ancient eyes crinkling. “I am what is called a Glowing One,” he said, his tone soft. “I recall someone saying you hadn’t met many ghouls until visiting New Vegas. I would assume that, since we Glowing Ones are far less common, you haven’t seen many of us either.”

“Are there more of you?” she asked, head tilting to one side in wonder. She could still feel the heat of his body radiating out from behind the bar.

“Glowing Ones, no. It is unfortunate, but most glowing ghouls are unable to withstand fully the radiation they have been hit with. They live on as ghouls, but the vast majority are feral.” The happiness in his eyes faded as he added, “I have never met another who is not feral, actually. No one I know has.”

His words made Calista ache for him. She knew how it felt to not quite belong, even in a group of what one considered to be his or her peers. Not quite tribal, not quite ‘civilized,’ she didn’t truly even belong at her own home. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I think I know how you feel.”

Jason shook his head, bringing a smile back to his lips as he said, “I am happy to have so many who welcome me, and to welcome in return.” But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He straightened and nodded once to her. “You are welcome here at any time you wish. I would say the lounge is open to you as well, and it is – to be clear, but I’m not certain it would be a good place for you to linger.”

Frowning, Calista turned back to Beatrix, who had remained quiet for most of the conversation. “What’s the lounge?”

“I’ll show her,” Beatrix said, gesturing to a door at the far side of the room near the stage with a jerk of her head. “Come on.”

Calista waved a quick goodbye to Jason and jogged over to Beatrix, who was already halfway across the room. She wove between the short, mismatched wooden-plank tables and the chairs, and around behind the piano that sat at an angle in front of the door, then ducked through the door and started down a set of stairs after her. As they went down, the air became noticeably warmer and gave off a peculiar odor that sent a chill down her spine. At the bottom of the staircase, they stepped off into a dark hallway, heading forward until Beatrix turned and stepped through a glowing hole in the old brick walls. The light seemed to be glowing the same hue of green that Jason’s skin had been.

“This,” Beatrix announced with a grand sweep of her arm, “is J’s Rad Lounge. The one and only of its kind, for the discerning ghoul or otherwise.”

“…it looks like a sewer,” Calista said, not able to help but be blunt about it.

“It is,” Beatrix said, nodding, her tone equally blunt.

The room, if it could be called that, was part of a sewer tunnel, outfitted with old couches and battery-powered lamps on low tables. The lamps, however, weren’t entirely necessary, as the room’s eerie glow came from a variety of glowing metal barrels with green sludge puddling around them. Some even had little mushrooms growing up from them, and dozens of clusters of the mushrooms and other glowing plants climbed up the walls towards the ceiling. As she examined the room in detail, she noticed that further down that there were grates that poured little patches of sunlight into the tunnel – probably where she had seen the tiny green mushrooms glowing from when she was walking the street above.

“What is this place?” Calista asked, uncertain as to the room’s use. It looked like it was just an oversized living space, only in the middle of a sewer and covered with radioactive plants and sludge.

“Call it a spa for ghouls,” Beatrix explained, shrugging. “Radiation is good for us. Keeps us healthy. Bad for you though. Your Rad-X can only stop so much of it. Come on, you’ve seen it, now let’s get out of here again.”

Calista scampered after her fast strides, firing off questions all the while. “Is this how you take the tunnels from here to the Thorn? How did you make the Rad Lounge? Was it already attached to the Foundry? Did they both open together or one after the other?”

“Slow down there girlie,” Beatrix said with a laugh. “Questions will be answered at the end of the walking tour.”

Beatrix showed her the few other accessible parts of the Foundry, starting with the stage. “There aren’t a lot of acts, since there’s not a lot of ghouls here to begin with. You’ve got Hadrian, who used to work on the Strip actually, doing jokes on weekends and a current events act on Tuesday nights. Then there’s Dean. He was a big name back when my skin was as good as yours. He mostly sings and sometimes plays with the piano.” She gestured to the tall wooden box across from them, the middle of which was covered in a long row of black and white stripes. “He’s actually figured out how to tune it in a way that sounds good.” She pulled out a chair at one of the numerous empty tables and sat down, gesturing for Calista to sit across from her. “I think he spends more time tuning it than playing it though.”

Calista sat down, leaning forward over the table. “What is it?” she asked, curious about the thing.

“It’s for making music on,” Beatrix explained, struggling to find words for it. “You press the buttons and they make little hammers hit strings that vibrate and make different pitched sounds. Either Dean or Jason will have to play it sometime for you, I’ve only ever played a guitar.”

“Can I get you anything?” a man’s voice interrupted, making Calista jump as she hadn’t seen him approach. To her surprise, he was another smoothskin like herself.

“No thanks Chris, I’m just telling Cal here about everyone here. Cal, this is Chris. He’s one of Jason’s old team.”

“Yeah,” the man rasped, as though his vocal cords were as ravaged as any ghoul’s. “And now I’m waiting tables. I’m a rocket scientist and I’m here waiting tables.” He rolled his eyes and stomped away off towards the bar.

First checking to make sure he’d really stepped away, Calista leaned forward and whispered, “I thought you said there weren’t any other smoothskins here?”

“Oh him? Chris don’t count. He thinks he’s a ghoul. We don’t understand it but we don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise either.” Beatrix shrugged. “He’s harmless enough. Just a grouch. Not a very good waiter. He’s been around for years. He was working for Jason probably before you were born, he was like that then too.”

How the man could think himself a ghoul and not somehow find out he was otherwise in over twenty years, Calista had no idea. But if he was happy, it didn’t seem like it would do him any harm.

“Anyway,” Beatrix continued, “that’s mostly it for staff here. Sometimes I’ll get up on stage for a dance or two, if I’m feeling crazy enough. We stopped doing karaoke when we learned that no one other than Dean has a good singing voice anymore. Any other questions?”

A tiny light lit up in the back of Calista’s mind as she cast about for anything she was itching to know. She hadn’t actually _asked_ any questions of her own yet, though she’d been given a good supply of answers for ones she hadn’t. The whole of the place made her feel like a child again with too many questions, sorting through the ones that seemed the least important to find the ones that Joshua wouldn’t tire from. He’d always answered her unending questions, but even she realized they had at some times been exhausting.

“Tell me what it was like before the Legion came, when they took over.”

Beatrix laughed out something between a sob and a cackle, choking out, “you just go right for the fun ones, don’t you? I bet if you ask any of us, we’d all give you a different story of what it was like when they came. But I suppose you might as well start with one from me…”

She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms out in front of her cracking her knuckles with a sigh. “When they first showed up,” she started, shaking her head, “I didn’t know what exactly to think. At first it was… strange. They didn’t behave how we expected. We were lucky here; this was a city they didn’t want to destroy. And if they’d wanted to, they could have. Easily.

“But they didn’t. Hell, at first they made things better. They tore down the most ruined buildings to reuse the materials for newer ones.” She frowned, brow creasing. “Lost a lot of my old hangouts that way, with Inculta’s men bulldozing and reworking material. Sure, they used it to make the rest of the place better, but that didn’t make me feel much better about it back then.”

Calista tried not so show her shock and interest at the name _Inculta_ being mentioned. But… working on buildings? It was possible this wasn’t the same Inculta, she supposed, but there only seemed to be one anyone mentioned.

“I thought he was a spy,” Calista interjected, taking a chance.

Beatrix laughed. “He was. Then Caesar told him to be a construction worker. Might as well have had a bright yellow vest and everything.” She waved the comment away when Calista frowned in confusion, not knowing what the reference was to. “They’d taken the city, and Caesar’s new plan was to settle and build up the city. He didn’t need spies so much as he needed secret police to ensure that no one rebelled against him. Some of Inculta’s men became those secret police, some were given picks and hammers instead.”

“Why though? That’s a weird career change.”

“Because they were the ones that knew where all the materials in the Mojave were,” Beatrix explained, as though this was obvious. “He’d scouted every building, every potential advantageous location to take along the way. He knew what places were bombed to shit and what ones were still standing in reasonable shape. Where to find unbroken windows and doors with working hardware. Where furniture of all kinds were tucked away. He built this city up from ruins to what it is today.” Beatrix then rolled her eyes and added in a mutter, “not that it ain’t still ruins now.” With a sigh, she shook her head. “But it was worse before. We all lived out in Freeside. Some of us didn’t even live inside a ruin. There were a few places where there were barrel fires and benches, and that was all they had. Grecks used to live at one of those; I’m sure he’s got some good stories. And Johnny One-Arm used to live on a stretch of sidewalk outside the shop by the main gate. Used to go by Rotface, back then. Not sure if it was his idea or not.”

“So…” Calista started, trying to find a good way to phrase it, but realizing already that she would fail completely, “you’re saying the Legion made things better?”

“No. I’m saying they made things different.” Beatrix didn’t laugh this time. “They brought good things with them, and they brought bad. So, different. But not better. Some things just followed them in, didn’t really come with them. Free water, good roads, water and sewer piping? That was all good. Segregating everyone into our own little compartments and telling us who had the right to do what and who didn’t? That was all bad. And the blatant racism against us? Well. That just sort of tagged along for the ride with the building of the districts.”

Calista bit her lip, wondering out loud, “was it worth it?”

“Who fucking knows.”


End file.
